


Transference

by fear_of_being_bitten



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Asshole with a heart of gold Ben Solo, Banter, Control, Dirty Talk, Discussion of past dubcon (drunk sex) ch 5, Dominant Kylo Ren, Don’t start this fic late at night, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Filthy, Forbidden, Forbidden Love, Lust, Power Play, Promiscuity, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Pushing boundaries, Rey's not having it, Seduction, Sexual Addiction, Sexual Tension, Shame-free sexuality, Slooowww burn, Slow Burn, Smart mouth, Smut, Strong Rey (Star Wars), Taboo, Teasing, Therapist Rey, Therapist/Patient relationship, Therapy, You’ll be begging like she’s begging, dark themes, patient ben, seriously go to SLEEP, tags will update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fear_of_being_bitten/pseuds/fear_of_being_bitten
Summary: Ben Solo has a problem with sex.  He’s addicted to his power over women, to the dominance and control.  He’s very good at it and at using sex to avoid real connection and emotional vulnerability.Dr. Rey Niima knows this because she’s the one treating him.Or, “Erotized transference in the male patient-female therapist dyad.“
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1496
Kudos: 2489





	1. Session One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greyorchids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyorchids/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Трансфер / Transference](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27736930) by [Smalta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalta/pseuds/Smalta)



> Go read her fic "The Masochism of Self-Defence" and become obsessed, too.
> 
> Hello~  
> Full force of warning that I am NOT a therapist and this is NOT proper therapy nor an allowed relationship. It is very taboo, not to mention illegal, for doctors to sleep with patients. This is 1000% pure dark fantasy, so apologies to the profession. No actual therapists or patients were harmed in the writing of this fic.  
> ***
> 
> Thanks to DangerTaylor for her wise thoughts on this story. I APPRECIATE YOU!

It’s already been a long day, and Dr. Rey Niima wants nothing more than to slip off her heels and sink her toes into the plush rug under the desk. 

  
Just like the wood paneling and the worn leather couch along the far wall, the burnt-orange shag rug is so stubbornly dated as to seem almost prideful. An announcement to all who enter that Dr. Moden Canady has no interest in current trends or your opinion of them. 

It’s a truly ugly office. 

If it were hers, Rey would gut it and start from scratch with a palette of calming neutrals and greys. But this is not her office, and these are not her clients. She’s just the temporary therapist while Dr. Canady recovers from emergency open-heart surgery. The shoes will stay on.

She takes a sip of her latte – three sugars, nearly tooth-rotting, just how she likes it– and flips open the manila case file for the next client.

_Benjamin O. Solo_

_Age 34_

_Divorced two years ago_

_Partner at Skywalker, Organa, Solo LLP_

_Billing: Private Pay_

_Primary diagnosis: Sexual Addiction, classified as_ _Sexual Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified._

Rey frowns. This category is not contained in the current DSM-5, but as his decor and the paper case files illustrate, her mentor Dr. Canady doesn’t adopt change readily. With a sigh, she pushes back from the dark cherrywood desk to scrounge through his overloaded bookshelves for the old DSM. She plucks out his threadbare copy and thumbs through to the description for Sexual Disorder (NOS):

_Distress about a pattern of repeated sexual relationships involving a succession of lovers who are experienced by the individual only as things to be used._

Rey rubs her upper lip with a finger. Although the term sexual addiction is commonly used, it’s not considered a true addiction like substance-abuse or gambling. Rather, hypersexuality is a coping mechanism for other emotional states or conditions, such as grief, stress, depression, anxiety, or even control disorders, like OCD.

Not her particular specialty, but one she feels capable of managing. Often comorbid with impulse control issues and risk-taking, which her training in cognitive behavioral therapy will assist. Mr. Solo appears to be seeking treatment on his own, since no arrest history or court orders are noted, and he’s not submitting a claim through insurance, either, perhaps to protect his privacy. All signs of his willingness to work in session.

But Rey doesn’t have to guess, she’ll find out soon enough. The clock on the wall reads 6:51. Mr. Solo’s appointment is on the hour. Today is Thursday, Dr. Canady’s late appointment day, so the front desk assistant Kaydel has already gone home. Rey’s alone in the office with a good ten minutes to catch up on Dr. Canady’s handwritten notes and prepare.

She returns to reading. A moment later, there’s a solid rap on the door. Rey ignores it, assuming Mr. Solo is letting her know he’s there. When the handle of the door squeaks, disobeying the “In Session- Do Not Disturb” sign, her eyes fly up as it opens.

“Excuse me,” Rey announces in a firm tone, less a question than an exclamation. It’s her doctor voice and it oozes authority. Her crisp British accent and natural huskiness lend it even more power over Americans, she’s noticed.

Whoever is on the other side is unconcerned, and the door swings open anyway. Nearly filling the open rectangle of light is a tall man in a dark business suit. His long brown hair is swept back from a rather striking face.

Rey stiffens, the lizard part of her brain that’s wired for danger pinging at the sheer size of him.

“Are you the new night girl?” he asks, dark eyes sweeping the room before landing on her again. His dismissive tone belies the curiousness of his gaze.

She blinks at the gall of the question, and it takes her mind a moment to flip over from the normal human reaction to such rudeness into clinical mode. She trains her face into an impassive expression. 

“No, I’m Dr. Niima. Are you here for an appointment?”

A shadow of confusion flickers across his face. “Where’s Doctor Canady?”

She swallows to mask any irritation. The man still hasn’t given his name, and she hasn’t risen from her chair. They’re locked in a subtle dance around each other, establishing who will take the lead in the interaction. If he is indeed her client, it’s her job to make him feel comfortable in session and build a rapport, within her set of boundaries. 

Her tone is calm and polite. “You didn’t receive the message? Dr. Canady’s assistant called everyone to explain he’s on unexpected medical leave. I’ll be seeing his clients for the interim.”

“Is that right.” He appraises her openly. 

“Yes. I was his resident, so he asked me to step in while he recovers. And you are–” 

“Ben Solo.” He crosses the room to offer his hand over the desk. As he reaches out, the fabric of his suit jacket pulls taut across his chest and she recognizes how large he is in comparison to her. Of how alone they are in the office.

“Dr. Rey Niima.”

His grip is firm and warm when he takes her hand. The corner of his mouth rises into a sly grin. Rey releases him first.

Cocky. Handsome in an off-kilter way, and a huge flirt. Ben Solo knows exactly what he’s doing, she realizes. Rey takes a deep drag of breath into her lungs and steadies her voice before looking up at the clock again.

Still six minutes remaining until his appointment.

“Well, Mr. Solo, I’m looking forward to working together. Your appointment is at seven, so if you wouldn’t mind–”

He disregards the rest of her sentence and crosses the room to seat himself on the leather sofa adjacent to the desk. A flare of temper blooms hot on the back of her neck, but she tamps it down as he unbuttons his jacket and makes himself comfortable.

“I’ll wait.” 

It’s obvious that he’s testing her. This is his comfort zone, so he’s feeling her out– where she’ll yield and where she’ll stand firm. Considering his case file, Ben Solo quite enjoys the sense of control and the attention he commands from women. 

So Rey resolves to give him none. She pretends this is all fine with her. “Thank you. I’ll be right with you.”

She takes a slow sip of coffee before looking down at her papers again. It takes three times re-reading a single sentence for the words to settle in, her mind still buzzing from the interaction. Licking her lips, she scratches out notes on a steno pad and tries not to notice Ben Solo at all.

From her peripheral vision, there’s no movement from the couch. His dark shape is perfectly still. No reaching for a magazine or his phone, he’s just . . . sitting. Watching her work. 

Rey refuses to be unnerved. She’s a professional and has dealt with far worse than an arrogant, controlling man. For the next three minutes, she will simply erase his existence from her mind and focus on the file.

“You seem young for a psychologist,” he murmurs.

_Do not react._ Rey’s tongue traces along her teeth behind her upper lip.

“Very pretty, too.”

She purses her lips and takes another sip of coffee without looking at him. _Do not give him the satisfaction. It’s what he wants._

“Quite the upgrade from Canady. I could get used to the view.”

She speaks while looking down at her notes, “Dr. Canady will be back in practice in eight weeks’ time, his recovery allowing.”

The leather of the couch creaks underneath the weight of his body. “And what if I prefer the upgrade?”

_The upgrade._ As if she were a thing. Her eyes rise to meet his finally. “Not an option, I’m afraid. I’ve wrapped up my research project and will return to London in the Fall.”

“Pity.” His thighs spread wider as he leans forward, elbows bracing on his knees. Looking almost ready to pounce across the coffee table. “Guess we’d better make the most of our time together, then.”

Incorrigible flirt. Well, if Ben Solo’s so keen on testing her, she better prove what he’s up against. Rey leans back in her chair, replacing the cushion of space between them, and glances up at the clock again. 

“Certainly. In exactly one minute and twenty-three seconds.”

It’s a calculated gamble putting her foot down with him like this. He could react negatively and take offense, throw up a wall and refuse to engage with her. But something tells Rey that Ben Solo enjoys a bit of sparring and the dance of swords. That he’ll respect her all the more for not giving in readily.

She’s proven correct when he breaks into a grin, chuckling to himself as he reclines back into the soft, worn leather of the couch. He extends a long arm and traces the seam with a lazy fingertip, his eyebrows raised like they’re sharing an inside joke.

It’s a level of false intimacy, this little act of his. A front. He’s using the game to keep her at arm’s length– like he must do with many, if not most, women– to prevent her from seeing the real man underneath and whatever vulnerabilities he’s hiding. To help him, she’s got to make the real Ben Solo feel comfortable enough to come out. She’ll have to prove to him that she’s worth the risk. Rey has a feeling that to earn his respect, she’s got to beat him at his own game a little bit. 

She takes a last sip of coffee then picks up her notepad and pen and crosses to the hideous pea-green chair next to the couch. 

Time to begin.

“So, Mr. Solo–”

“Call me Ben.”

“All right, Ben. So you’ve been seeing Dr. Canady for eight months?”

“If that’s what it says in the file.” His voice is bored, but his eyes are bright and sharp when she looks back to him. “Can I call you Rey?”

“I prefer Dr. Niima,” she replies. Her voice betrays no emotion other than calm friendliness. Professional boundaries are important to doing the work. 

“But it’s such a pretty name,” he says.

“Thank you.” Keeping him on topic is clearly going to require work. “Why did you begin seeing Dr. Canady?”

His fingers fan a bit as he waves her off, looking up at the ceiling. Dismissive. “That’s in the file, too.”

“It is, but why don’t you tell me in your own words?” She crosses her legs and slides them to the side of the chair to take the pressure off her heels. Her black slacks hitch up to reveal the ankle straps of her stilettos, and she gently tugs her pant hem down again.

His amber eyes flicker from her ankle to her face. Calculating. There’s glimmer there, and she can almost see his wheels turning.

“First, answer a question for me,” he says with a slow smile.

“All right.” Rey taps the end of her pen on the paper. A habit she’s had while thinking since her school days, to get out the extra nervous energy when she cannot pace.

“Do you find me attractive, Dr. Niima?” 

The direct nature of the question takes her off guard momentarily. Then she feels silly for not preparing for it sooner, because of course he’s still testing her. Searching for those soft spots to push against, seeing what he can get away with.

Therapy cannot happen without vulnerability and truth. Rey answers honestly and without emotion. “Yes.”

Like a shark smelling blood in the water, she’s caught his full attention now. “Would you fuck me?”

“No.” Not a moment of hesitation.

“Why not?”

“You’re my client. It would be an abuse of power. It’s against the Hippocratic Oath and my licensing. I could go to jail, lose my career.”

“Ahh.” Ben doesn’t seem upset by this reply, and if anything his grin only widens. “Only if we got caught.”

This train of thought is not productive. “I answered your questions, now it’s your turn.”

“Why I’m here?” Ben combs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “Too many women. I like to fuck too much.”

Rey waits with a neutral expression for him to say more, but Ben doesn’t expand. She finally prompts, “Too much for whom?”

“I like your accent. It makes the most basic words sound dirty.” The way he deflects attention back to her is both aggravating and somewhat flattering. 

“Mr. Solo–”

“Ben.”

_“Ben.”_ It takes conscious work to keep the exasperation out of her tone. He’s triggering her in a way that few clients do, and Rey can’t quite pin down why yet. She’ll need to reflect more on that later, but for now she steels her expression. His lack of cooperation should be addressed with empathy.

“I know this change must be uncomfortable for you. You had a therapeutic relationship with Dr. Canady, and now it’s been disrupted.”

“Oh, no, this is fantastic.” Ben’s face transforms when he smiles, dimples appearing under the sharp cheekbones like a feat of magic. “Talking to a hot woman about sex? Believe me, it’s no hardship.”

She resists the urge to smile back. “So when you say 'you fuck too much'– too much for whom?”

“I think I could cum just hearing you say fuck.”

Rey presses her lips closed. Part of her wants to laugh, the larger part wants to scream. She does neither and simply looks at him and waits.

Ben relents. “My uncle, the managing partner of the firm. He heard about my extracurricular activities and it was either this or forfeit my profit points, so–” He opens his palms. “Here we are.”

Rey uncrosses and crosses her legs as the sands shift beneath her. This is not a willing client after all, a man ready to make changes in his life. Ben Solo was forced here– he’s essentially in therapy detention. His behavior is both clearer and infinitely more complicated.

“So your uncle sees a problem but you do not?” She asks, curious at how self-aware he is.

He shrugs. “A lot of men fuck around, I’m just better at it.”

“So you believe you don’t have a problem with sex?”

He takes his time licking his lips before leaning forward again, slowly, maintaining eye contact the entire time. 

“Our whole culture has a fucked-up relationship to sex. We teach that it’s a sin, but if you’re married it’s a commandment. We tell kids not to do it, but sexualize teenage bodies to sell things in ads. People are shamed into suicide for who they want to fuck. Maybe if we all fucked who we wanted, whenever we wanted, the world would be better off.” 

Rey cocks her head, watching him closely. Gauging his reaction. “Did you feel this way before the divorce?”

Ben sits up straighter, jaw working. “No. I don’t know.”

She can see the stiffness come into his shoulders. He’s not comfortable in these waters, so she asks softly, “Does it bother you to talk about it?"

His dark eyes seek hers, some of the humor gone. “There was no cheating, if that’s what you think.” Finally, a glimpse of real feeling. It may only be annoyance, but it’s genuine.

Rey looks down at her pen. “I was just wondering if your attitude changed after that.”

Ben pulls down the cuffs of his jacket, one at a time, then straightens the lapels as his tone turns frigid. “What changed is realizing I wanted to live my life, and not be stuck in a dead relationship with someone who could barely tolerate me.”

Divorce is considered a highly-traumatic life change, particularly for men who are unable to articulate their emotions. It’s not unusual to dive into the single life again with abandon to numb the pain, so perhaps the root of his behavior is losing that relationship. That thought is interrupted when an alert goes off on his watch. Ben looks down and smiles. 

“To answer your question: No, I don’t think I have a problem, and neither do the women who leave my bed. I make sure of that.” He stands to button his jacket even though they still have twenty minutes left. “I’m sorry, Dr. Niima, but I have to cut this short. I have a date with a sweet little submissive who's catching a red-eye back to Tokyo tonight. But I look forward to sharing with you in detail next week all the depraved things I’m going to do to her.”

Maybe he really does have to leave, or maybe he's escaping the conversation when it hit too close to home. Rey’s lips part, and she takes a half-breath before responding, trying to find balance in her tone despite his lurid words throwing her off.

“Of course. Nice meeting you, Ben. I’ll see you next week.”

He's almost through the door when he stops and turns back to her. His thick fingers tap on the doorframe. “Oh, Rey, when I asked you before if you’d fuck me? Know why I was smiling even when you said no?”

She stands and leans a hip on the desk, tucking her hands in her pant's pockets. The man is nearly intolerable, yet intriguing nonetheless. She's always liked a good challenge. “I couldn’t possibly imagine.”

“Because out of all the reasons you gave, you never said you didn’t want to.” 

He winks and leaves the door wide open so she can watch him walk away.


	2. Session Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya- Thanks for reading and your enthusiasm on the first chapter! I appreciate it so much.  
> It's a winding road with these two, a bit like a tennis match with points scored and lost.
> 
> Reminder: This is make believe. Not real therapy, not real patients.
> 
> Thanks to DangerTaylor for a wise set of eyes and some great input. I appreciate you! Check out her work here on AO3.
> 
> (quotes within on the disorder taken from this article: https://psychcentral.com/lib/what-is-sexual-addiction/)

Rey rounds the block to her apartment, breathless and sweaty. Her sneakers hit the pavement along to the steady bass beat filtering in through her headphones at the end of a three-mile loop, her standard route through the neighborhood after work. She wipes the sweat off her forehead with the hem of her muscle t-shirt as she comes to a stop before her building.

The ache of her muscles is a welcome reprieve from sitting in a chair all day. She’s a physical person and a kinesthetic processor, so containing all that energy to sit still in the office leaves her antsy and restless. Her body needs to move and be put to use. Running is her reward and her escape. It’s also the only time when the steady wheel of her mind stops spinning. 

With hands on hips, she shakes out her legs and catches her breath. The sky is barely lit a dusky violet from the waning sun. With a tap, she logs the run into her smartwatch just as the music cuts off with an incoming call. It’s Deidre, Dr. Canady’s wife.

“Hello?”

“Hi Rey, dear, how are you?”

Her voice is cheery, so nothing’s wrong. Rey exhales and fishes out her key from the small pocket in her leggings and climbs the brownstone steps. “All good. How is he?”

“Oh, you know Moden. Grumpy as hell and annoyed to be doing nothing all day.”

Rey smiles and locks the front door behind her. She heads back to the kitchen. “I’d expect as much. Workaholics don’t rest very well.”

Deidre chuckles. “He wanted me to check in. Do you have any questions for him?” 

Rey bends to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge. “Oh, no, Kaydel’s been very helpful. And his records are legible, surprisingly.”

Deidre laughs as she takes a sip and heads into the small dining room. Fanned out over the table are piles of papers marked by orange sticky notes with the names of each new client. Her eyes float amongst the piles and settle on one.

“Actually, the client Ben Solo? He’s got a gap in the file. Do you know how he found the practice?”

Deidre pauses. “Hmm, I don’t know that one.” She helps with the records, so she’s got knowledge of the clients. “Let me ask.”

Rey flips through the file, re-reading her session notes as she waits:

_Arrogant, testing_

_Self-aggrandizement_

_Attention seeking_

_Control_

_Self-defense mechanism_

_hurt/divorce? Root cause?_

She recalls his smug smirk and bites the inside of her cheek. A handful, to say the least. Muffled voices on the line, then Deidre’s voice returns. “Moden says Ben was referred by an old school chum of his. His uncle Luke Skywalker.”

“All right.” Rey takes another swig of water. So Ben didn’t even select his own therapist. Hmm. Rey would question the potential conflict of interest, but she knows that Moden’s a strict professional and would never leak private information from a session without permission, even to a family member. 

Rey puts down the water bottle to unhook her hair. "Please tell him everything is fine and Kaydel and I are on it. He just needs to focus on getting better.”

“I will, dear. Thank you. Have a good night.”

Rey hangs up and sets down the phone. She pulls a heel into her seat to stretch out her quads while studying the paperwork.

Nothing here she cannot handle.

_____________

It’s almost five on Thursday when Rey steps back into the office with the largest iced coffee she could carry. She needs the additional liquid stamina to help her through the late day. She finds Kaydel wrapping up the day’s billing and preparing to leave.

“Your one o’clock late-cancelled for tomorrow, so you can take a long lunch break if you want. Otherwise, you’re all set.” Kaydel hands Rey the folder with the receipts for tonight’s clients. She flips through them

“I don’t see Mr. Solo’s here.”

“Oh, he pays in advance for the month,” Kaydel says.

Rey’s eyebrows rise. “Really?” That’s quite a bit of cash out of pocket. 

“Like clockwork.” Kaydel smiles. Her wide blue eyes are full of mirth. “What do you think of him?” By the coquettish tilt of her head, Rey can tell she’s not asking for her professional opinion. She likes the girl, but she’s not about to gossip about clients with her.

“Haven’t formed much of an opinion yet. You?”

“He’s hot.” Kaydel giggles. “He’s come in a few times during the day. Always sits on the corner of the desk to talk to me. I almost gave him my number.”

Rey gives her a look of gentle disapproval. “You did not.”

Kaydel giggles again, and places a hand on her cheek. Clearly, Ben Solo’s had a lasting effect. “No, I didn’t, but God, I wanted to. Whatever he’s got, they should sell in a bottle.”

Rey shakes her head and holds up the file folder with a smile. “You’re relieved of duty, naughty Miss Connix. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Have fun tonight.” Kaydel winks and packs up.

Rey seats herself behind the desk, doing her best to ignore the implication. 

_____________

After the 6 o’clock client leaves, Rey keeps the “in session” sign posted and locks the inner office door. There’s no chance Mr. Solo will enter early this time. 

She sips through her straw and flips open the old DSM and a book. She needs to better understand the severity of his sexual compulsion and the progression of behavior. She reads up on the condition:

_Sex addiction also involves “compulsive searching for multiple partners, compulsive fixation on an unattainable partner, compulsive masturbation, compulsive love relationships and compulsive sexuality in a relationship.”_

_Sexual addiction is best described as a progressive intimacy disorder characterized by compulsive sexual thoughts and acts. Like all addictions, its negative impact on the addict and on family members increases as the disorder progresses. Over time, the addict usually has to intensify the addictive behavior to achieve the same results._

Intimacy disorder rings true. Ben uses sex as a barrier to deeper connection, and most women happily oblige him. 

So, questions to ask: Preocuppation with sex? Masturbation habits? Use of pornography and sex workers? Other related compulsions? Exhibitionism? She suspects that Ben will quite enjoy this line of questioning. 

Despite the chill of the drink, the room feels stuffy. Dr. Canady’s air conditioning system seems about as up-to-date as his interior design. She stands to turn the thermostat down. 

There’s a rap on the door. The handle rattles, and then stops. She glances up at the clock. Still six minutes to go. He can wait in the lobby.

Rey reseats herself primly and smiles at the desktop at the small comeuppance. Good, he needs some firm boundaries. The satisfied feeling fades as her professional mind reminds her that this isn’t a duel. She’s not here to “win” against him. 

At two minutes ‘til the hour, she takes pity and opens the door. She finds Ben agitated and pacing the small waiting area. 

“No, that’s not what he said,” he barks into the phone. “Are you too fucking stupid to realize they have us by the balls if they find that contract now?” His free hand slices through the air to punctuate the words as he stalks like a tiger in a cage. “He should’ve disclosed it before.” 

Ben hasn’t noticed her yet. Rey crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe to watch him. 

“No– listen Hux, it is your fucking fault. I asked you to prep him for deposition. Is he prepped? No.”

Ben reaches the end of the room and turns. The moment he sees Rey, his demeanor changes. The tight scowl on his face loosens. He straightens to full height and rakes a hand through his hair. His gaze remains fixed on her even as his words are spoken to the man on the phone.

“I have to go. I have something to do– far more important than you. You’re gonna fix this tonight, or you don’t sleep.” 

A chill crawls up her spine. The words aren’t directed at her, but his intense stare is. Rey doesn’t need to imagine the fear and intimidation he must strike at the office, it’s right there before her.

Ben hangs up and slips the phone in his pocket. He tugs down the hem of his jacket. “Apologies, Doctor. I don’t like being late.” Tension radiates off of him in waves.

“It’s fine.” Rey says gently. Giving him a moment to calm down.

Ben exhales and his eyes wander the floor for a moment. Then they rise to meet hers again. A smile curls the corner of his mouth. His expression takes on a mischievous glint. It’s like seeing a mask slip back into place. She also imagines it’s how a wolf looks when it spies a rabbit. 

Ben prowls forward. “I’m sorry to make you wait for me.”

Rey steps out of his path to hold the door open. “No worries. Come on back.”

Once he’s seated comfortably on the couch, Rey takes up her steno pad and place in the pea-green chair. It’s standard practice that she’s always closest to the door, and she confirms that. You never want to be boxed in by a client.

“Seems you’ve got a stressful situation at work,” she opens.

“It’s nothing new.” His thick fingers tap along the leather of the top cushion slowly. Obviously uninterested in the topic.

“How long have you worked at the firm?”

“Since a couple of years out of law school. My family convinced me to leave the prosecutor’s office for something more lucrative.” The words contain some venom.

“Oh?” Rey puts on a neutral demeanor. Listening is her favorite part of the job. The sublimation of self and becoming attuned to another person; seeing the world through their eyes and accepting them without judgment. It’s an active form of empathy that she never got much of herself growing up, so she enjoys giving it to others.

“Of course there were other costs. What’s the going price on self-respect these days?” Ben chuckles darkly. “Probably not much.”

“So you don’t–”

He closes his eyes and swats the air, like brushing away a fly. “Look, I don’t want to talk about work. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Okay.” She’s internally disappointed to drop the thread. The stress of working with family seems like it could trigger a lot of unhealthy coping behaviors. She notes down _family_ to pursue later. “What do you want to talk about?”

He smiles. “You.”

She’d really rather not tonight. “This isn’t my session, Mr. Solo.”

“Ben.”

_“Ben.”_ She smiles in acknowledgement. “This is your time.”

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“How so?”

He leans forward, bracing elbows on knees. “I’m expected to share some pretty deep things, yet I don’t get to know anything about you? How am I supposed to feel comfortable opening up when you’re locked up tight?”

Of course he’d attempt to sway her with rhetoric, he is an attorney after all. He enjoys the duel of words. She raises her eyebrows and parries back. 

“Did you ask Dr. Canady these same questions?”

Ben’s smile deepens. “I wasn’t interested in Canady.”

Rey taps her pen on the pad. “This is a professional relationship, you’re not here to learn about me.”

“What if you can’t help me if you don’t open up?” he challenges with a smile.

“Then I would say you aren’t taking therapy very seriously.”

“And I would say what’s the harm in answering a few questions, Doctor, after all the ones you ask me? Unless you’re afraid.”

His deep amber eyes bore into hers. A dare. So he found a weakness after all: her competitive edge. The oppositional side that can’t drop a bone or admit defeat because she hates backing down from a challenge. Her favorite professor used to say some self-disclosure can be helpful in developing trust with a client. So Rey will play his game for a little bit.

“All right. What’s the question?”

“Are you straight? Into guys?”

Of all the banal, expected things to ask. Rey resists a roll of her eyes. “For the most part.”

Predictably, that piques his interest. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve been with women in the past.”

“So you’re bisexual?” 

“I don’t personally identify with labels. I believe sexuality lies on a spectrum. If anything, I’m experimental.” As he digests this information, she seizes the opportunity to steer the topic back to him. “What about you?”

“Am I into women?” He grins. “A very hard yes.”

She ignores his innuendo. “Any men?”

“A boy kissed me in college. It wasn’t bad. But I’ve only fucked women.”

“How many women would you say?” She flips to a new page in the steno book, intending to parse out if he’s been promiscuous only since the divorce.

Ben unbuttons his jacket to rest an arm along the back of the couch. “Is that Dr. Niima asking or Rey?”

Her pen stops cold on the pad. “Pardon me?”

Ben’s eyebrows rise. “I’d like to know if you’re curious or if it’s for the files.” 

Rey uses her doctor’s voice to respond, speaking pedantically to shut down this line of thought. “It would be inappropriate for me to ask you questions for personal reasons.”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I want to ask you personal questions, so it’s tit for tat.” He winks. “Or tit for cock, depending.”

Rey leans her chin on a fist and decides to address his game directly, before this gets any further out of hand.

“Ben, do you like trying to make me uncomfortable?”

“Yes, very much.” He grins as wide as the cheshire cat. His honesty would be disarming, if it weren’t so infuriating.

She refuses to smile back. “What about it do you enjoy exactly?”

“Well, you’re gorgeous and your accent is hot, so I have a feeling that getting a rise out of you would be very–” his eyes drop down her body. “Arousing.”

She makes a show of flipping through her notes, although she remembers his words distinctly. “Last week you said I was, um, ‘pretty,’ but now I’m suddenly gorgeous?” She cocks her head and smiles sardonically. 

He leans back, licking his lips into a smile. “I didn’t want your head to get too big.”

She scoffs and stands to put some distance between them, walking behind the desk to pick up her coffee. Mocking him a bit as she says, “So you no longer fear for my head?”

Ben spreads his thighs wider on the couch and reaches to his crotch to reposition himself. “At the moment, I’m more concerned about the size of my own head.”

She almost chokes. Rey coughs and slaps her chest. Ben laughs as she sits down to compose herself. When she finds her voice again, it comes out as a disapproving croak. “What am I going to do with you, Mr. Solo?”

His dark eyes spark. “I have some ideas I’d like to share.”

“I’m sure you do.” She sighs and looks down at her desk, and most importantly away from his knowing smirk. The teasing and the exasperation keep throwing her off her game. There’s no explanation for how Ben Solo manages to slip under her skin so easily, or why she seems to keep letting him.

She’s got to take back control. Rey picks up her pen. “We need to actually get to work or you aren’t getting your money’s worth today.”

His boyish smile sets his face alight. “Believe me, flirting with you is worth every penny.”

_Flirting._ Her cheeks heat at the lack of respect. She’s not a toy for him to play with. “I didn’t go to six years of school to _banter._ I’m interested in working with clients who are serious about working with me.”

He relents with an easy shrug. “Okay, Doctor, no flirting then. Let’s just talk about sex.”

_Ooh, the smug bastard._ She’s not sure what’s upsetting her more, his insistence on messing with her or the fact that she’s allowing it to work. Both alternatives make her simmer. Rey looks down again and takes a deep breath to center herself. 

Focus.

“You began seeing Dr. Canady because your uncle, as your employer, compelled you.”

“Correct.”

“Did a specific event trigger this?”

“Yes.”

Rey waits for him to answer with an expression as neutral as she can make it.

“I fucked my way through a softball team.”

Not precisely what she is expecting. She blinks.

“It’s a sport. Like baseball,” Ben explains patiently.

“Yes, I know of it.”

“Law firms have softball teams for the summer associates, the kids who intern and are about to graduate law school. I guess to show them we have ‘fun’ and to lure them into selling us their souls.” Ben supplies his own air quotes. “And, well, Mothma LLP’s team was particularly ripe last year.” He licks his lips as if recalling the flavor. “So perhaps I over-indulged in the twenty-two year old outfield.”

She crosses her legs slowly. “And word got back to your uncle?”

He nods. “He wasn’t pleased. I mean, I didn’t fuck the girls on our team, even though a couple were basically begging me for it. I’m wise enough to not cum where I eat.”

She studies him for a moment. The way he smiles after each word, watching her closely for a reaction. How proud he is to be so shocking and crass. It’s as if he’s performing the part of the unbridled libido for both of them. The scoundrel, the law firm lothario. 

Rey sees through it. In his warm eyes there is a sharp intelligence, watching her as she’s watching him. 

“But you have no issue hitting on your own therapist? Isn’t that ‘cumming’ where you eat?” She volleys his quote marks right back at him to gauge his response. 

He smiles. Those keen eyes meet hers and it’s clear as day that he’s enjoying himself. Ben leans forward. “You can’t tell me no, can you Doctor?” He says it slowly, deliberately, as if rolling each word in his mouth to taste them first. His voice is so low it sounds like it drags along the floor. “You just have to take it.”

Her spine stiffens. Ben wants her to react, because then she’s not challenging him. It’s how he deflects and keeps his emotional distance. He wants her to be offended.

She won’t give it to him. “That’s not precisely true. I won’t take abuse, physical or verbal.”

“Of course not.” He smooths his pants over his thighs, and the material stretches against the swell of muscle. “But whatever filthy, depraved thought that crosses my mind I can share with you. And you just have to sit there and take it. Right?”

Rey lifts her chin and meets his stare head-on to show him she’s not frightened of him. “I’ve worked with patients who are institutionalized and jailed. Nothing you have to say will surprise me.” She manages a smile. “And fantasies are normal and a healthy part of sexuality. We all have them.”

“You haven’t heard mine yet.” He grins wickedly. “Or should I start with the things I’ve actually done first? Which would you prefer?”

“Whatever you wish to share is your choice.” Her poker face resettles. 

“Okay. Let’s start with my favorite: dominance.” He eases back into the embrace of the couch, the old leather groaning under his weight.

“Can you explain what that word means to you?” she says, flipping a page on her pad.

Rey looks down and readies her pen. The room feels stuffy again, she should have cooled it more. She may break out in a sweat. Next Thursday she’ll wear a sleeveless top or even a skirt. 

Ben waits until she looks at him again before he continues, wanting her full attention. “Total control. The feel of a woman soft underneath me, waiting for it. Submitting. There’s something about bringing a woman to heel that’s just,” he gives a chef’s kiss. “The stronger she is outside the bedroom, the sweeter the taste when she melts in my mouth. Fucking delicious.”

“So you enjoy controlling powerful women,” Rey repeats, making her voice sound uninterested. She takes notes, although it’s unlikely she’ll forget a word of what he’s saying. It gives her an excuse to look away from him.

“I do. But it’s not the taking of the control that I like, any brute can take."

She glances up. Sexual obsession can spin into unhealthy places, dangerous places, if untreated. The word “taking” rings an alarm, and she watches him carefully.

“The pleasure isn’t in the conquest, it’s in a woman’s surrender. It’s her giving in to me willingly.” His amber eyes spark, and she can almost feel his excitement. “The moment when she sinks into blind submission because she trusts me enough, _wants me enough_ , that she’s willing to do anything for me. That’s the part I crave.”

Rey recrosses her legs slowly, willing her body to not give anything away. She hopes that Ben won’t ask her any more questions right now, because she desperately doesn’t want to admit that his words have created a heat in her, despite her willing them not to.

She looks down and sees what she underlined earlier: _Intimacy disorder._ What is his dominance giving him that he needs?

“You said it’s the trust and being wanted that you crave,” she says carefully. “Yet wouldn’t an intimate relationship with a steady partner give you those in a safer way?”

He shifts on the couch and some of his animation dulls. “That’s a narrow perspective. I’m surprised you’d say that, to be honest.”

“How so?”

“It’s traditional and boring. Why would I bother, if I get what I want from many women instead?”

She counters, “You were married, so at one time you did seek the comfort of stability. Did something change your perspective?”

Ben stands, and Rey becomes alert to his movement. She eyes the door and remembers how alone they are. But he walks away from her to the window, tucking hands in his pockets and looking outside silently. It seems like he’s ignoring the question and her. 

When his voice returns, it’s low and almost robotic. Closer to the clipped tone with his colleague than his regular loose charisma. “Everyone plays a game. Long or short term, they’re just different kinds. It’s easier to stand it for just a night.”

She watches his body. The tension that comes into his shoulders and jaw. Rey thinks it’s no coincidence that the stress of work and the pain of recounting his last relationship strike him similarly. After a moment, Ben looks over his shoulder at her. His smile is sly once again. 

“So, Dr. Niima. You’ve had a run of questions. I think it’s my turn.”

Things got too real for him for a moment, she thinks. It’s back to playtime, like a cat batting around with a mouse.

“Okay.”

“Are you currently in a relationship?”

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“Been focused on my work. I’m moving home in a few months anyway.” She’s growing weary now. Of his prying, and of the day.

The light from the window falls across his face. It catches the gold flecks in his eyes. “When’s the last time you dated anyone?” 

Rey stands to stretch her legs and crosses to the far side of the desk to add more space between them. Ben turns his back to the window to follow her movements.

“Um, can’t recall actually.” Glancing up at the clock, she takes another sip of her coffee. Only eight minutes left, thank goodness. 

“Last time you fucked someone?”

The air in the room feels stifling again. “I think I’ve said enough on this topic today.” She’s going to need a run later to settle down.

He smiles. “So it’s been awhile.”

_The insolence._ The words pour out before she can filter them, but fatigue isn’t entirely to blame. “Unfortunately, not all of us get off on brief encounters–” By the time she’s stopped herself, he’s taken a step closer. Greedily chasing after that line of thought.

Rey closes her eyes and rubs her forehead. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“What did you mean?”

She looks at him again, resigned. “I shouldn’t have said–”

He waves a hand. “I don’t give a shit about that. What did you mean– about you?”

Well, she made this mess. Can’t blame anyone but herself now. She’s got to finish the thought and move them forward. Rey sighs. “For me– I need to feel a connection with someone to enjoy physical intimacy. Brief encounters don’t work for me.”

He brushes a finger over his lips and considers her response. Considers her.

In an instant, she feels vulnerable and exposed. As if he’s staring at her unclothed. It’s deeply unsettling, even more so that she allowed it to happen in session and that the tables turned between them. She was worried about setting up boundaries for him to follow, but she didn’t think enough of establishing her own defenses.

He must sense the shift. “Are you uncomfortable?” Ben asks, taking another step forward. Just a few feet away from her now.

“Yes,” she replies honestly. Honesty builds trust, which is the foundation of a therapeutic relationship, but she feels overextended tonight. She can’t meet his eyes any longer and looks down at her feet. The urge to move is strong, to get away from him and the mistakes she made– to run and leave this stifling office. 

“I’m sorry, Ben, it wasn’t–”

“Don’t apologize.”

His sharp tone makes her look up again. The rawness in his voice arrests her.

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” She expects him to gloat as he watches her squirm, but instead there's no trace of gamesmanship his features. The wicked smile is gone. He’s not smiling at all, in fact, and she’s not sure what to make of it.

The moment passes and she looks back to the clock. Her chest is tight as she inhales. “That’s all the time we have for today.”

“I’d like to come in twice a week.”

She looks back to him in surprise. “Why?”

“Because our time is limited. I’d like to make the most of it.”

_You just like toying with me._ She can’t very well say that, because she’d have to admit to them both that he’s gotten to her. Her pride won’t allow that. And besides, she won’t let it happen again.

“I don’t think your case requires it.”

“I want it.” He places his fingertips on the desk, skimming them forward as he moves in closer. When had he gotten so close? Her scalp tingles. 

She can feel the silk of her blouse sticking to her back. The room is too hot. She’ll call building maintenance tomorrow. Rey escapes to the closed door and opens it wide to draw some fresh air in and to usher him out. She looks in Ben’s general direction to avoid the snare of his eyes.

“You can call Kaydel tomorrow to see if there are any openings. My schedule is pretty full, but if you insist, she can help you.”

As he passes her to leave, Ben stops mere inches away. He looks down at her over his shoulder, his deep voice so low to be barely audible.

“I think you’re the woman to help me.”

Rey doesn’t release her breath until she hears the front office door slam closed behind him.


	3. Session Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~  
> Check out this absolutely GORGEOUS art by the talented @Flyora4 from Twitter and Tumblr from chapter 1! Thank you, I love it so much! What an honor.
> 
> Reminder: This is not real nor real therapy. It's fiction and a taboo relationship that deals with blurred boundaries. It discusses sexuality and promiscuity in an open way. Please do not read if that's not for you and speak respectfully to me, other readers, and the characters in the comments. We all have feelings and are doing our best! 
> 
> The back button is your safe word. Reading should be fun! :D
> 
> Thanks to my amazing friend and beta, DangerTaylor! She has some fantastic work, including "Stellar" which openly explores sex work. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934877/chapters/37156487 .  
> As always, mind the tags and stay safe.

Rey loops her hair up into a messy high bun and adds an extra elastic band to her right wrist. She sets out from her apartment in a fast walk to warm-up, antsy to finally get moving after the late day in the office.

She snaps the band on her wrist. It’s a grounding technique she uses with clients to bring awareness to thought patterns. When the mind wanders to undesirable territory, snapping the band brings you back again. 

Tonight, she’ll snap it whenever she thinks of Ben Solo.

The sun set long ago, and the streetlights add a blue tint to the sidewalk. She picks up into a jog along her regular route and tries to quiet her mind.

But quiet doesn’t come easily tonight. If only she hadn’t responded to his goading and given him the reaction he so clearly craves from her. 

Rey snaps the band.

Her legs elongate into a full stride, and she focuses on the strike of heels hitting pavement. She’s a fit woman– a strong woman– and it’s something Rey takes pride in, the fact that she isn’t weak. With a deep breath in through her nose, out through her mouth, the tension in her shoulders eases. Limbs loosen, and hopefully the mind will follow.

She skirts around a couple with a stroller and attempts to stay in the moment. The cool air on her skin, the ambient sounds of cars and pedestrians. The feel of her body, warm and loose, as other thoughts fade to the background. 

Words from her favorite professor rise from the back of her mind, unbidden. She admires Dr. Holdo not just for her wisdom, but for being a leader in a male-dominated field.

_“Therapists are human, too. We have weaknesses and blindspots, just like our patients. Instances of countertransference are common. It’s not our job to be perfect, but it is our job to admit when we need help. Don’t let pride stand in the way or jeopardize your career. Every good therapist has a therapist.”_

Had she done that? Blurred a boundary with Ben, or brought her own issues into session? She doesn’t think so. 

Rey snaps the band.

The next session, she’ll come prepared. He needs focus and direction, and she needs to not reveal any more vulnerabilities that he can use to deflect from himself.

She can do this. Because if she can’t, she’s going to need to ask for help. 

Rey absolutely hates asking for help.

____________

Friday is a typically busy day. Most of Dr. Canady’s patients have agreed to see her while he recuperates, so her schedule is stacked.

Today she wears a sleeveless lace blouse in cream with a taupe cardigan to match her high-waisted, wide-legged charcoal pants. Rey looks younger than she is, so dressing the part of a chic professional is important to her. She never had much growing up, so the first thing she did after receiving her project stipend was purchase a respectable wardrobe. It’s a uniform of sorts that makes her feel competent, which in turn gives her an extra weight of authority. In her own mind, at least.

Her bullet journal carries the note to call maintenance about the thermostat. She walks up to the building feeling prepared and in control, the elastic band still wrapped around her wrist.

____________ 

The morning sessions go well. After her 11 o’clock client leaves, Rey steps out into the waiting area with her bag to head to lunch.

Kaydel greets her with a bright smile. “Ben Solo called. Several times.” She looks at Rey as if she’s expecting her to have an opinion on this fact. 

“Oh?” She won’t give her anything else to chat about. 

“Yes, he wants a second weekly session. I told him you’re booked up next week, and he was rather miffed.”

Rey remembers his temper. “I can’t imagine him ever being _miffed_.”

“Some colorful words were uttered under his breath,” Kaydel giggles. “I told him you had an opening today at one–”

“Oh no, you didn’t book him?”

Kaydel cocks her head as Rey swallows the dismay. The small flash of panic she feels is somewhat ridiculous. She’s perfectly capable of dealing with him, she’s just unwilling to today. 

“No, I said I had to ask you first.”

“Good. I’m taking a long lunch to catch up on notes. I want to try the French place, since it’s a nice day.”

“Ok, I’ll call him back and put him on the waitlist instead.”

“Great. See you at 2 o’clock.” Rey throws her bag on her shoulder and strides out of the office. 

She slides on her sunglasses, happy to have bought more time before facing Mr. Solo again.

Rey snaps the band.

_______________

It’s a truly gorgeous day. The sun shines brightly from the cornflower blue sky down onto the city sidewalk, which is nearly jammed with people pouring out to enjoy it. The air is still cool enough in the shade to feel like late spring. Rey soaks it in.

She selects at a small table outside and sips a cafe au lait, triple sugar. Her old textbook is spread before her and she re-reads the practitioner notes while absently tapping her pen on her jaw.

_Countertransference is an excellent reminder that clinicians are human beings with feelings and emotions. During a session, a client may open up and bear their souls causing a strong emotional reaction. The experience of the clinician during the session can affect the outcome. Clients can remind you of someone you know currently or in the past. As a clinician, you need to be aware of countertransference at all times._

Countertransference examples:

  * _A clinician offers advice versus listening to the client’s experience._
  * _A clinician inappropriately discloses personal experiences during the session._
  * _A clinician doesn’t have boundaries with a client._



Her body is very still as she considers the list. Unnaturally still for her. She reads it over twice and makes internal notes. 

  * Ben Solo reminds her of no one else in her life.
  * Her admissions were at his behest to build trust, not prompted by her.
  * She maintains appropriate boundaries. Keeping strict appointment time, ending the session, putting her foot down with him. 



External factors were at play last night– the lateness of the day, the heat of the room, the nature of the discussion, embarrassment from a personal disclosure– but she can’t blame them entirely for her discomfort, either. It was from within her, and she needs to better understand how Ben provokes that response. What he draws out from her, and why.

Rey snaps the band.

“Are you ready to order, Miss?”

She looks up at a young waiter in a crisp white apron. As she opens her mouth to speak, a deep voice cuts her off.

“She’ll have the salade nicoise and the steak au poivre with frites.”

Rey turns. Ben Solo stands across from her with dark sunglasses and a wide grin, hands tucked in his navy suit pants. She has no idea how long he’s been standing there. 

Her stomach flutters.

“It’s the best thing on the menu. Anything else is a waste of your time.”

The waiter looks between them with raised brows. 

Encountering a client outside of the office is awkward and uncomfortable always, and she typically finds the quickest exit possible from the situation. Seeing this particular one, right now, leaves her flustered. She looks to the waiter for his opinion.

He appears almost sheepish. “I’d have to agree, Miss.”

Both the cafe and sidewalk are crowded, and the social pressure to not cause a scene is great. “Okay. Fine.” She hands the menu over with a tightly-pressed smile. She was ordering the salad anyway. 

Ben pulls out the chair across from her and sits. “I’ll have the same.”

_The nerve._ She stares at him, dazed, as the waiter walks away. The regret is immediate that she didn’t respond quicker on her feet and simply accepted his order. Still, she bites back the instinct to tell him to leave, not wanting to cause a scene or giving him the satisfaction of getting underneath her skin. 

He’s caught her unprepared again. Dammit.

Rey stares from behind her sunglasses and tries to calm her blood. “You’ve got quite a lot of cheek,” she says, voice as neutral as she can make it. She won’t grace him with a smile, although his own grin doesn’t have the decency to falter.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She flicks her tongue over her lips and goes for the direct approach, mind still trying to rebalance at this turn of events. “What a coincidence meeting you here, after just telling Kaydel where I’d be?”

Ben makes no effort to answer right away as he shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it over the back of his chair. He ruffles his hair back, then begins to roll up his shirt sleeves. Making himself comfortable. 

_How nice for him._ Her own spine feels like it is forged from steel.

“Kaydel’s a sweet girl, truly. She didn’t mean to let it slip, but if I keep her on the phone long enough, she’d sell me state secrets.”

He’s so casual. Unperturbed. The sun catches glints of auburn in his hair, a rogue silver strand threaded into the raven above his temples. He looks to be in his element, although perhaps for Ben Solo, the whole world is his element. 

At least that’s what he leads people to believe. Rey’s sure there’s far more going beneath the surface.

Best to clarify things now, before there are any misconceptions. “It’s not appropriate for me to socialize with clients outside of the office. I’ll take my lunch to-go.” Boundaries. Clear, firm boundaries.

“Oh, this isn’t a social call. It’s a session,” he corrects, with wide eyes. “You had no other times available. I mean, you didn’t think . . . you’re my doctor, after all.” 

He allows time for the idea drag out so it can sink in, mercilessly, making her feel not only rebuffed, but also presumptuous for assuming. A blush rises to her cheeks and she takes a sip of water to mask it. Rey glances at the street, so she won’t have to see him enjoying her embarrassment. When she looks back at him finally, the quirk of his lips is a dead giveaway.

He’s fucking with her. His favorite game. She can also play.

“Okay. Well,” she looks at her watch. “If you’re truly wanting to work today, I’ve only got about 45 minutes. I’ll need to charge you for a full session, unfortunately.” 

Rey never meets with clients outside of the office, and not under these circumstances, but Ben doesn’t need to know that. Rather than make a scene, she’ll go with the flow and show him she’s not so easily thrown off by his antics. She’s still in control, after all.

“Not a problem,” He looks away and snaps his fingers to get the waiter’s attention. “May I have a glass of the Château de Beaucastel?” Ben looks at her, and she shakes her head no. “Alcohol is not used in session,” she explains in a dry tone.

“Maybe it should be.” Ben leans forward, forearms on the table, long fingers gesturing. “Imagine how quickly we could cut through the layers of bullshit.”

“So you’re less guarded when you drink?” she counters.

“Everyone is, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t drink much, so I’m not one to ask.” She unfolds her napkin in her lap.

That catches his curiosity. “Why not?”

Fear of being out of control. Substance abuse in her birth family. Bad past experiences. A wickedly low tolerance. He doesn’t need to know all that. “It doesn’t suit me well.”

Rey looks down at the book on the table, still open to the page on countertransference. She sweeps it up and tucks it away in her bag.

“In what way?”

She volleys back to him, “You certainly like redirecting questions to me, don't you?”

“You’re a far more interesting subject. I already know me.” Ben chews the side of his mouth and becomes distracted when a busty blonde walking a dog passes by. Rey watches as his gaze drops down the woman’s body before quickly resettling on her face. He tracks her movement, even turning his head to follow. She notices him and throws a smile his way.

As a woman sitting with him, it's absolutely appalling behavior. But as his therapist? Fascinating. Ben seems more interested in the woman noticing him than anything else about her. Maybe getting him out of the office with outside stimulus is a good thing after all. 

Once his attention returns to her, Rey leans forward and places her chin on a fist. She decides to turn some of that directness back on him and see what shakes loose.

“Do you like blondes, Ben?”

His lips part in reaction to her boldness, she assumes. “Who doesn’t?”

“Are most of the women you sleep with blonde?”

“No, that doesn’t matter.”

“Curvy? Big breasts then?”

“I have no preference.”

That’s unusual. “Really? Most people have a type.”

He crosses his arms on the tabletop and leans in. It narrows the space between them to a couple of feet. She can see her reflection in his sunglasses, and her own slight smirk.

“Okay, then what’s yours?”

She purses her lips to pretend to think. She’ll keep some of that truth for herself, but it may be an opportunity to move them forward a bit.

“I like intelligence. Wit. A certain charisma, but most of all– openness. Genuine honesty. It’s a highly-attractive trait to me.”

That settles in. Will he take the bait, she wonders?

“None of those are physical traits,” Ben murmurs.

“I’m primarily attracted to the mind.”

“Bullshit, Doctor.”

She leans back. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, that’s bullshit.” The waiter delivers his wine, and he takes a sip and approves. The man leaves, and Ben continues his thought, long fingers gesturing. “Let’s say Larry, the skinny guy with acne, fits your bill precisely with his _very sexy_ mind. You think you’re ever gonna give him the time of day to find out?”

She blinks at his presumption. “You don’t know enough about me to say that.”

“My point is the physical is just as important. There’s something– a chemical reaction, an instinct even– that draws you in, makes you want to get closer to learn all those nice, compatible things about them. But you’d never get close enough if you didn’t like the packaging first. If you didn’t feel that spark.”

“So you pick your partners for the packaging, yet say you don't have a type?”

“My type is hot and willing. The specifics don’t matter.” His index finger circles the lip of his wine glass lazily, as if it may play music for him. “That little stuttering breath when I walk closer, the extra flutter of eyelashes. I don’t care the size of the heaving bosom, as long as it heaves for me. That’s what draws me in. I like to fuck women who want to fuck me.”

Her mouth has gone dry. She notices this, as well as the heat on her skin, which is not entirely from the sun, and reaches for her water. For as agitating as he is, Ben doesn’t seem to be dishonest. He’s oddly self-aware, even as he puts on his alpha-male show. Rey wishes she could see behind his dark glasses to the expression in his eyes as he said all those words. 

His soft eyes tend to give him away.

“So you crave desire. Acceptance.”

“I like to hear the yes.”

Rey leans over to dig in her bag for a notepad to write that down. As she does, the waiter delivers the salads.

Ben is right. It’s delicious. Once the steaks arrive– somehow tender despite the thin cut, served with golden, crispy frites– Rey’s already restraining herself from cleaning her plate just for the sheer pleasure of the taste. She stops with enough left over for dinner.

“How do you like it?” Ben asks, swirling the wine in his glass as he waits for her answer. His bemused smile says he already knows how much she likes it, but wants to hear her say the words.

_Fabulous. Perfect._ “It’s good. Do you come here a lot?”

“Yes, the office is just a few blocks over,” he gestures. “My mother loves the trout almondine, but it’s always dry.”

“You work with your mother, too?”

He cuts another bite of meat while staring at the edge of his knife. Dark red runs across the white porcelain. “Yes. A true family business.”

Rey keeps her gaze down, noticing his tone is as sharp as the knife. He has an issue with his family, clearly. The fact that his mother is also involved in it, since that’s a huge source of nurturing and feminine ideation for men, is noteworthy. An area for further exploration. 

It’s a relief to be outside of the small, dated office. It’s actually easier to speak freely with the distraction of the food between them. They’re both more relaxed, and Ben seems less confrontational. If she squints, it could almost be a lunch with a friend, or maybe out on a lunch da– . . . 

Rey snaps the band on her wrist.

“What’s that?” Ben scrunches his brow and lifts his jaw. 

“It’s a mindfulness technique. Do you know CBT?” He shakes his head, so she continues. “Snapping the band brings awareness of undesirable thought patterns. Change the thoughts, change the behavior.” 

“So what’s yours?” He swallows.

Wild animals couldn’t drag the words out of her. “That’s personal. Do you have any thought patterns you’d wish to change? Perhaps internal judgments or reactions?”

He wipes his mouth and sets his napkin on his plate, considering. “Well, maybe if I could wrap that band someplace else, it might keep me out of trouble. Not sure they make them that big.” He lifts his brows, back to playing the lothario.

It’s tempting to meet his snark with her own, but instead the words are delivered gently. “Why do you do that, Ben?” 

“Do what?”

“Turn everything into a joke?”

Ben stills and licks his lips. He looks down at his plate and slips off his sunglasses to fold and put into his shirt pocket. Leaning back, he hooks an elbow over the back of his chair. All of this bought him time before responding, she notices. When he speaks, his voice has a little bite.

“My mother has a saying, ‘If my life wasn’t funny, it would just be true. And that’s unacceptable.’” He picks up his wine glass and looks out to the street. “So I guess it runs in the family.”

“A coping mechanism,” Rey says.

“I suppose.” His smile flickers brighter for a moment, before burning out entirely. “Also a weapon.”

When he looks back, his dark amber eyes are unguarded. Ben’s always the most real when he isn’t smiling. She’s beginning to be able to read him. The corner of his lip curls. She’s thankful to still be shielded by her own glasses when he says, “What about your family? Any hot sisters I should know about?”

Disappointing, but not surprising that he's back to his tricks. It was getting too real for him.

“No, just me.”

“Hmm, a lonely only. Parents still in the UK?”

“No parents.” She’s used to saying it, so the words carry no sting.

“Oh. My condolences.”

She shifts in her chair and looks beyond him to wave for the waiter to bring the check. “Not necessary, I didn’t know them. I grew up in a state foster home.”

For once, Ben seems struck speechless. "I'm sorry." 

“Thank you.”

“I often wish I grew up an orphan myself,” he cracks.

Her response is so swift that there’s no way to make it sound kind, “Only someone with the privilege of a family would say such nonsense.” It’s the sharpest she’s ever spoken to him, and she regrets it instantly.

Ben looks surprised and chastened. “I apologize. Rey, I–”

She shakes her head and lifts a hand to interrupt him, “You were joking. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

“It was a bad joke. You’re right, I couldn’t possibly understand.”

Rey shrugs and turns away to reach for her bag. 

His hand covers hers on the table to stop her. She freezes and sits up, looking at it and then him.

“But I’d like to.”

The waiter arrives with the bill, and she slips her hand away from his to the safety of her lap. Her heart beats fast and she rubs the back of her hand as if she could wipe away the touch. _Stupid, stupid._ She’d let her guard down, and he’d touched her. Clear limit crossing and inappropriate physical contact, even in comfort.

Ben’s already slapped his credit card down on the tray and handed it up to the waiter before she can say anything.

“Wait, Ben–”

“It’s my treat.”

“No.” She sharpens her tone, despite feeling rattled. “I’m paying for my portion. I can’t accept that.”

“Least I could do, after I made you order all that food.”

Alarm bells are ringing, boundaries blurring and being disregarded. Her own nerves twist tighter as she makes her voice as clear and steady as she can muster. She stares him directly. “Ben, this is only a professional relationship. This is not a date.” 

Her rejection has an immediate effect. He doesn’t look chastened this time, quite the opposite. He leans into her glare, eyes glinting devilishly, almost daring her to be the first one to break and move away first.

Rey doesn’t flinch.

“I know it isn’t, Doctor. I’m paying you for your time. So if anything, that would make you a–”

“Don’t you _dare._ ” It’s almost a growl as she struggles to keep her voice lowered from the surrounding tables and people on the street. Her hands tremble under the table and she grips her napkin in fists to keep them from the very tempting idea of wiping that smug look off his face, manually.

The waiter returns with a to-go box for her and she busies herself scooping the rest of her food inside, ignoring him. Breathe in, breathe out.

“No need to get upset. It’s an honorable profession.” Ben says lightly. “Psychology, that is.”

“Well, this has been interesting.” Rey packs up her bag, still buzzing. Already knowing she’ll berate herself this evening, again, from this interaction. “To be clear, all future sessions are called in through Kaydel and placed on my schedule in advance. If you want a second meeting, we’ll be staying on topic, otherwise one per week is sufficient.”

“Yes, Doctor.” He salutes her with a mock stern expression. Watching her closely. “Shall I escort you back to the office?”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking myself, thank you.”

“Right, because this isn’t a date.”

She shoots him a warning look. Ben pushes on, dark eyes glimmering. “Because if it were a date, I’d walk you home to make sure you got there safely. And the next morning, I’d bring you coffee in bed when you're too worn out to walk.”

_Do not respond. Don’t you respond to him._

“Precisely. This isn’t a date, because those things will never happen. Do you know how else you can tell?”

Ben raises his eyebrows so innocently and with such evident anticipation, that for a moment she almost feels guilty for what she’s about to do. This must be the same wicked joy he gets when he pulls her strings. Time to yank his for a change. 

Rey holds onto the back of his chair to lean forward near his ear, so only he can catch her words on the crowded sidewalk. “Because if you _weren’t_ my client and tried to call me a whore? I would have no issue slapping the shit out of you.”

Rey stands and smiles sweetly. Ben’s face, to her pleasure, has gone a bit slack. She gives him no time to recover before saying, “See you next week.”

This time Rey walks away first.


	4. Session Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your incredible support. Could not muster the courage without you, readers!
> 
> Credit to my friend, DangerTaylor, for her wonderful insights. She makes this infinitely better. 
> 
> Check out her works here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerTaylor/pseuds/DangerTaylor/works
> 
> Reminder:  
> Not real patients, not real therapy. Proceed with fantasy in mind.

Rey is not a person who handles free time well. Growing up in chaotic foster households, with no voice or agency in her own life, she developed a strong need for control and structure. She’s a consummate list-maker and thrives on that small dopamine hit of striking out a chore in her journal.

Which is why it’s so odd for her to sleep in on a Saturday.

She should be house hunting for the Fall. Her friend Siobhan gave her a lead on a flatshare near the university, and there are always notes from last week to update or the perpetual preparation for the next. Instead, she’s staring at the blank, white canvas of the ceiling. Her window is cracked open a couple of inches and the drapes blow gently with the breeze, making the light dance through the room. Kids are playing down on the street below, their voices a melody of happiness to the steady beat of the ball. 

She woke with a pang in her chest. It’s not an uncommon feeling– the familiar physical weight of loneliness. Her first thought is that she’s had the dream again, but better not to dwell on that. She’s done enough analyzing of it to last her a lifetime, and understanding it doesn’t solve the feeling, in any case.

Her phone pings from the bedside table. She rolls over to reach for it and scrolls through her email, propping a fist under her temple. One catches her eye. It’s from Ben Solo, sent to her professional account. 

_Dr. Niima–_

_I regret how we ended on Friday. My attempt at humor was inappropriate, and I hurt you. I don’t want you to feel that way with me._

_I want to work with you. I’ll try to restrain myself moving forward. If I don’t, you have my permission to slap the shit out of me._

_Although I can’t promise you that I won’t like that._

_Yours,_

_Ben Solo_

The time stamp says it was sent at 1:37 am this morning. Rey blinks, reading the message a second time. Ben was thinking of her in the middle of the night. After whatever it was that he was doing, or perhaps during it. Her stomach flutters, and with a dawning horror she identifies the feeling as excitement. 

Rolling onto her back, she stares up at the ceiling and places a hand on her chest. She breathes, feeling her hand rise and fall. Here, alone in her room, it’s safe to admit it to herself. Indeed, it’s the duty of a therapist to turn the wheels of analysis inward, even as she feels her heart rate quicken with the fear of it.

She’s attracted to him. Attracted to a client.

Ben Solo is smart, challenging, and a loudmouth to be sure– but _oh, what a mouth._ He’s got a keen sensitivity and awareness that lures her in closer like a fish on a hook. He’s sexy and built with muscle and power, and she’s dying of curiosity to know just how good he actually is in the sack and if his cock is as thick as the rest of him. 

Even thinking those things to herself feels like a transgression.

Rey rolls over to face the window and closes her eyes. Fantasy is good. Fantasy is healthy and cannot hurt you. It’s _acting_ upon fantasies, giving into temptation, where the danger lies. As long as she controls herself– as she always does– she will be fine.

She’s a professional and will do her duty, both to herself and her client. 

She writes him back.

_Dear Ben,_

_Thank you for your message, but no apology is needed. I understand you didn’t intend to offend me with your comment, and it is my job to separate my personal issues from our work together. I appreciate the sentiment, but you need not tend to my feelings. That’s my job._

_Looking forward to a productive next session._

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Niima_

Rey reaches for a hair band to wrap around her wrist. She snaps it several times, hard.

Then opens her drawer for her vibrator.

______________

Tuesday is unseasonably hot in the city.

Rey ties up a bun and settles on a white linen sundress to suit the weather. Cap sleeves, with a hem that ends just above the knee, and airy enough to not trap heat. Slipping on nude ballet flats, she folds a taupe blazer over her arm to wear in the office to offset the softness of the skirt and heads off to work.

Ben Solo has taken an open spot at three, but beyond that her sessions are all the Tuesday regulars. Kaydel greets her with a smile. Everything is as it should be.

Her two o’clock session is a couple, the Wexleys. Lila cheated on Snap, and they’re still healing from the betrayal. It’s been a journey to unpack the hurt they’ve inflicted upon each other that led them to this place, and Snap is still dealing with expressing himself beyond the typical male emotional default of anger.

Things become tense near the end of the session. 

“Do you have any idea how fucking embarrassing this is?!” His voice is barely restrained, the unexpressed pain rising to the surface. “That I have to sit here and talk about this because you couldn’t stay out of another man’s bed?”

Lila sets her jaw. “Like this is a vacation for me?! As usual, everything is all about you.”

Snap surges to his feet and takes two steps forward to his wife. Lila is a small woman, but tenacious, and she crosses her arms over her chest and scowls back at him. Rey rises and moves in a slow arc behind him toward the door. Proactively defensive, just in case things spin out of control.

She interjects, “We need to take a moment–”

Snap ignores her and points a finger at his wife as his face reddens. “I never cheated on you! I was faithful for seven years!”

Lila’s face contorts into a snarl. “You also didn’t _look at me_ for a solid two years, Snap, so don’t act like you’re some kind of martyr!”

“Let’s take a breath–” Rey starts again, but they’re both too wrapped up in the anguish to listen, flooded with emotion.

“Don’t blame me for you fucking someone else!” Snap scowls and suddenly swats the metal lamp off the side table next to Lila. It hits the bookshelf and clatters to the floor. 

Rey flinches and is about to speak when the inner office door flies open. They all turn to look at it in surprise. Ben Solo stands in the doorframe, Kaydel calling out futilely behind him.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Ben asks, eyes scanning the room until they land on Rey. “Are you okay?”

Snap takes a step forward toward him, but Rey recovers from the shock and is quicker. She moves between the two men with arms outstretched.

“Yes. We’re fine. Thank you, Ben. Please leave.” She fixes him with a stern look.

Ben stares back at Snap, whose chest is heaving as he struggles for control. Ben’s lips are drawn tight as he looks back at her. 

“I’m out here if you need me.” It sounds like a warning. Her heart thuds in her chest, the adrenaline and his dark tone warming her unexpectedly.

Rey tries to dissolve the tension. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you. Kaydel, please close the door.”

Kaydel leads Ben out and mouths “sorry” behind him as she closes the door. Rey nods in acknowledgement.

“Please, Snap. Take a seat. We need to take some quiet to calm ourselves down. Let’s use the breathing technique we worked on.”

The lamp is straightened with an apology. The moment passes gradually, and they manage to end on a cautiously positive note.

At the end of the couple’s session, Rey leads them out to the waiting area and spots Ben standing with his arms crossed leaning on the wall by the door. He watches the Wexleys leave with a dark look. 

As much as she’d love to grab a break after that session, now she’s behind schedule so there’s no time. “Ready to come back?”

Ben nods and follows her inside. Once seated, he asks without preamble. “Does that happen to you a lot?”

“What?” Rey grabs her pad and takes her place in the green chair. “The yelling?”

“He threw something. That’s dangerous.” Ben sniffs, disapproving. 

Rey cocks her head at him, curious. “Are you worried about me?”

“It’s not safe. If the man can’t control his temper, he shouldn’t be here.” 

It’s quite entertaining to see the filthy-mouthed Ben Solo suddenly act like a school marm. Rey can’t quite repress a small smile. “But then how could he learn to control his temper if he doesn’t come here?”

“Not with you.” Ben looks at her directly. “Too risky.”

She taps her pen on her pad with warring emotions. Flattery that he wants to protect her, yet offense that Ben assumes she can’t take care of herself. She picks the words carefully. “Do you think of women as needing protection?”

“Not all, but most. I’ve seen men like that, dramatic and controlling, holding women hostage with their outbursts to intimidate them. It’s fucking pathetic.”

Hmm. Interesting. “Are these men in your family?”

Ben picks lint off his trousers and doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. My parents fought like cats and dogs, but my dad was twice as big and ten years older. And her side of the family was no picnic either.” He smiles ruefully. “Don’t ever accuse a Skywalker or Solo of not being dramatic.”

“But you’re not that way?”

He smiles. “No, I was too quiet. Now I prefer other forms of attention from women.”

“And you also like to protect them,” she points out.

“Somebody has to. That guy wouldn’t pull that shit with Canady.” Ben eases back into the couch.

“Do you also behave differently with me than with Canady?”

“Obviously.” The smirk is back. His eyes drop down to her bare legs as she crosses them. Rey pulls the hem of her skirt down a bit.

“How so? Can you explain?” She looks down at her notes, to take some of the pressure off the conversation. Perhaps he can be more honest if he’s not looking into her eyes.

“For one thing, I actually look forward to therapy now.”

She writes that down.

“I also get the sense you aren’t quite as impressed with me as he was.”

She frowns and looks up again. “How do you mean?”

Ben smiles impishly. “Well, Canady seemed to take more pleasure out of my stories, if you get my drift. He particularly liked the ones featuring stewardesses.”

That’s far more information than she wants to know about her mentor. Rey feels her cheeks pink and looks down again quickly.

“Whereas you, I don’t know. I can’t tell if you get any vicarious thrills.” He crosses an ankle over his knee, so his thighs are spread wide on the leather. His trousers stretch taut over thick muscle, despite her trying not to notice. “But maybe you do, when you’re alone.”

For a brief, wild moment, she thinks he knows what she did over the weekend. The fear fades as she swallows. Of course he doesn’t, Ben’s just fishing again. Goading her. She won’t take the bait. 

Rey boldly meets his challenge, looking up again. “Do you want me to get a thrill from your stories?”

He licks his lips. “I certainly wouldn’t mind. You can think about me all you want.”

She flips the page of her notebook, ignoring his offer. _Don’t give him the reaction he so desperately craves,_ she reminds herself. Rey snaps the band.

“I do have some questions to ask you. To help determine the nature of your behavior.”

“Fire away, Doc.”

“How many times do you masturbate daily?” She stares at the notepad, as if this is just any other client and any other round of questions. Committing herself to emote as much as the potted plant in the corner.

“Maybe once or twice, I don’t count.”

“Is that normal for you? Increase or decrease in the last six months?”

“Normal since about fourteen, sure.” He grins.

“Age of first intercourse?” She keeps her eyes tracking down stubbornly on her own writing and wills herself not to visualize the words.

“Eighteen.” She jots that down. 

“Was it in a relationship?”

“A family friend. She was twenty-two.” 

That’s interesting. He must’ve looked up to her, with the age difference. A separation of status. She makes a note to return to that later.

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

“Ever?” He tilts his head toward her.

“Or since your divorce, if that number changed significantly?”

“I don’t keep track, believe it or not.”

“How about an average per week?”

“It depends.” He strokes his calf slowly. Big, thick fingers smoothing down the fabric of his pants. She watches, distracted, before looking down again.

“On what?”

He smiles like it’s his birthday. “On if it was a good week. On if the Turner twins are in town.”

“How about a guess?” She taps her pen on the pad and fidgets. Her crossed ankle begins to shake as the nervous energy rises.

“I’d say three.”

She can’t help but begin calculations in her mind. Two years’ worth of weeks is more than a hundred, so multiply that by three would be . . . oh my.

“The same partners or different each time?”

“Mix of both.”

“Did the frequency of sex change after your divorce?”

“Definitely. I realized that sex could be fun again.” He uncrosses his legs and stretches his arms over his shoulders, expanding his chest out like a lion. “Once nothing was stopping me anymore, I decided why the fuck not?” He chuckles. “So to speak.” 

She clears her throat. “Are you taking risks? Selecting safe partners?”

“I wrap it up tight, sweetheart, don’t you worry. And I don’t have to pay for it, if that’s what you mean. You’d be surprised how many women appreciate the direct approach. I don’t beg.” 

Ben’s beaming at her, quite enjoying himself. He looks like an actor on the stage waiting for a curtain call and the roses to fall down. It strikes her how artificial this side of him is– what an act. Not the same Ben with the deeper intelligence that looks out at her seriously when she cuts too close to the bone.

The brighter the smile, the further from the real him. It’s his tell.

She watches very closely as she says, “You spoke earlier about how you treated me differently than Canady. Do you feel like you need to perform more with me?”

“Perform?” Ben quirks a brow, but his smile remains intact. Cocky and deliberate.

“This. Your manner.” She gestures with her pen between them. He doesn’t react, so she elaborates. “You said before you enjoy getting a reaction from me, so I’m assuming you behave this way to achieve that. Wouldn’t that be considered a performance?”

His smile begins to fade and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. She’s struck a nerve, she can see it in his eyes.

“Doesn’t everyone perform a role, in one way or another?” His guard is up with the way he’s studying her. 

She uncrosses her legs and leans forward, elbows balanced on knees to keep his attention. She wants to push him on this, see beneath the layers. Her voice softens a bit as she tries to thread the needle between the act and the real him. “We all have different roles. As employees, as friends, as lovers, as children.” She doesn’t miss his flinch at the last word. “We play them as needed. The problem can lie when we never feel authentic. If we’re never being seen or accepted for who we really are.”

His eyes darken before he breaks eye contact abruptly. Ben looks at the bookshelf, his jaw tightening as he lifts a hand to his mouth. His knuckles brush over his lips as he thinks. Rey takes the opportunity to study his profile, the sharp lines and planes, and tries to imagine what he looked like as a child. How did those deep, sensitive eyes and giving mouth appear in a boy’s innocent face? What kind of hurt turned that softness to stone along the way?

Ben looks back. He meets her gaze, unblinking and undeterred. “What roles do you play, Dr. Niima?” It sounds somewhat defensive. She must’ve truly struck home, so he’s volleying the vulnerability back onto her. “Where does the doctor end and the woman begin? Do you have it all figured out from where you sit in judgment?”

Her back stiffens. “I never judge, Ben. I only try to understand.”

“Then explain how you manage it. Are you authentic?”

“Not all the time, no.” Honesty builds trust. She’s walking through this with him, not against him.

“How about right now? Is this who you really are?”

“It’s one part of me, yes.”

Ben slides closer to the edge of the couch, leaning forward so that their knees almost touch. She sits up straighter. 

“What about the woman under the doctor? Is she being seen and known?”

Her mind starts buzzing. A dizzying feeling, like playing hide and seek, when you hear the footsteps closing in and know that you’re cornered.

“I have friends and a mentor who know me–”

“What about a lover? Who knows that side of you?” His intense eyes don’t leave hers, and she dare not look away now. The most dangerous thing to show a predator is weakness. 

“I don’t need to disclose myself to help you. We’ve discussed this already.”

He grunts. “Ahh. Coward.”

The back of her neck heats. “Excuse me?”

There’s electricity in his eyes, like heat lightning at night. All distant storm and crackling, silent but still dangerous.

“You want me to be real, but you won’t be.”

“This is about you–”

“How can you presume to help me, if you don’t live by the same principle? Is it cowardice or hypocrisy?”

She stands suddenly, needing to move, and looks down at him. “I don’t need to prove anything to you. You’re deflecting from your own vulnerability.”

He looks up at her with puppy dog eyes, brows lifted as if to show he’s innocent. Ben’s far from innocent, and they both know it.

“If you can’t even admit what we both know, Rey, how can you expect me to be honest?”

She freezes and stares at him. Her feet are rooted to the ground, immobilized by the pounding of her own heart.

“You know the truth, you just won’t say it.”

As she swallows, mind scrambling for the appropriate response, Ben’s hand reaches forward. His index finger extends and grazes her thigh just below the hem of her skirt. Skin on bare skin, the lightest brush of a fingertip.

She recoils and steps back as her breath catches. Her pen drops. He bends down to pick it up, but she’s already turned to flee back to the safety of the desk as her arms erupt with goosebumps. 

Putting both space and wood between them, her eyes wander the files and papers on the desktop as she says, “You may not touch me. That’s a firm boundary. You know that.”

“I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

Her eyes snap up to meet his and narrow. “That’s a lie.”

Ben doesn’t look sorry. Far from it. “I’ll start telling the truth when you do.”

She presses palms into the wood to ground herself and resists the urge to throttle him senseless. “We need to end for today and reassess–”

“You want me.”

_The audacity._ Her breath stops in her chest as she looks at him, eyes wide.

Ben takes a step closer. “We both know it. Which is convenient, because I want you, too.”

“This session is over. You need to leave. Now.” She points to the door. Her heart is thudding so loudly, she’s afraid he’ll hear it.

“Why is it so hard for you to admit? Words can’t hurt, can they, Doctor? They’re just words.” 

She watches him approach the far side of the desk. Each step is soundless, but she can almost feel them in her chest.

“Unless you’re afraid you’re going to do something about it.”

_Calm down. Just calm down. There’s no danger here, you are in control._

Rey steadies her voice and puts on her clinician’s tone as she keeps her eyes planted on the desktop. “What you’re feeling is called erotic transference,” she says. “It’s when a patient forms an unhealthy attachment to their therapist in session. In your case, as part of your diagnosis of hypersexuality, you also obsess over unattainable partners, like me.” 

Her gaze rises to meet his and holds firm. “The feeling isn’t real, Ben.”

“Then what’s your excuse?” No trace of a smile, just dark amber eyes fixed like liquid spotlights on her. She can almost feel the burn. “Don’t insult me by trying to lie, I’m an expert at detecting arousal.”

She stares back wordlessly and accepts the feeling of failure as it washes over her. The weight of her mistakes and limitations, the lack of control of the here and now, the self-disgust she knows she will feel later. She allows the internal conflict to rise and then pass, because they are just feelings, and feelings do not control her.

Feelings _will not_ control her. She faces him and the truth.

“I made a promise to help people. To do no harm, and to put my own needs behind those of my clients. If I lose sight of that, if I lose respect for myself and my code of ethics, then I will have nothing. Then I could no longer do the work that I love.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. It stretches longer, elastic with time, borderline painful as it fills with the words she said as well as the words she didn’t say, which somehow seem to ring even louder between them.

“I understand,” Ben says finally, his gaze unwavering.

She sits down in her chair and pushes forward into the protection of the desk, reshuffling papers that don’t need to be shuffled.

Ben watches. Quiet. Her pulse starts to slow as the silence grows.

He asks out of the blue, “Why are you going back to the UK?”

She’s relieved to change subjects, momentarily forgetting that she just ordered him to leave her office a few minutes ago.

“My research project ended. I’m on a temporary visa.”

“Will you come back to New York?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe one day. I do like it here.”

He strokes his upper lip. “What if you had a visa? Would you stay?”

The question catches her off guard. It hasn’t been in the realm of possibility, so she’s never considered it. She looks up briefly. 

“I’m not sure.”

He’s silent, still stroking his lip.

She looks down again before saying what needs to be said. “I must inform you that I’m going to be speaking to Dr. Canady about today’s session. I will seek his advice on if you and I can continue to work together, based upon statements you have made. This conversation will remain confidential, but as a client you have a right to know that I am seeking this counsel, as he’s your regular practitioner.”

“You don’t need to. I get it.”

Her shoulders are stiff as she admits. “I do need to, for me.”

“Don’t drop me. Please.”

The candor surprises her. She lifts her chin to find him looking at her directly, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“I just want what’s best for you,” she says softly.

“That’s what they all say when they leave.”

It feels like a punch to the gut. The knowledge that she’s reproducing a pattern that he knows well, the pattern that brought him here to begin with, settles in with immediate guilt. Why does she feel like the bad guy for doing what’s right? 

“We’re out of time for today. We’ll discuss this more on Thursday,” she says, weary and defeated.

He tucks his hands in his pockets and nods, then heads to the door. Hand on the knob, he turns back to look at her. “I thought about you and left early.”

The words make no sense. She looks up, her face drawn back to neutrality, waiting for him to finish the thought.

“The night I sent the email. I left the bar early.”

She blinks, still not understanding.

“Alone.”

Her lips slowly part, but Ben’s already out the door.


	5. Session Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @DangerTaylor for her endless emotional support. She's an angel and writes some really great fic, check out her work!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I appreciate your support and enthusiasm so much. Y'all are the best. <3
> 
> TW: mild discussion of past dubcon (inebriated sex)

Rey’s already unbuttoning the dress as her apartment door slams shut. The ballet flats drop one-by-one to the floor, followed by a trail of clothing as she heads back to the bedroom, too keyed up to worry about the mess. The pit of tension in her stomach converted into kinetic energy on the commute home. If she doesn’t get running now, she feels like she’s going to explode.

Minutes later, she slips the key into the pocket of her leggings and jogs down the front stairs. No music tonight. Only the ambient street noise accompanies the steady beat of self-recrimination as she considers the session with Ben Solo.

_Alone._

He said he left the bar alone and emailed her. Why? Was Ben thinking of her as his therapist in that moment, or as something else . . . the thought is interrupted by the memory of him cornering her in the session earlier. The dark, liquid intensity of his eyes made her breath move faster. No hint of a smug smile, just cool confidence as he challenged her, calling her out on her own bullshit. 

_“You want me. We both know it. Which is convenient, because I want you, too.”_

Her toe catches on the concrete and Rey stumbles forward a few steps, before stopping with a gasp on the sidewalk. Wide-eyed, she bends forward and cups her knees, catching her breath as adrenaline floods her veins. “Holy shit,” she mutters aloud, but no one on the street pays her any mind.

Oh, God. Ben’s right. She does want him.

When his fingertip brushed the bare skin of her thigh, the shock felt like the slow strike of a match. The heat that curled between her hips was as intense as it was alarming.

_Fucking Ben Solo._ The arrogant bastard. The hot, infuriating bastard. 

She would love to run her fingers into his thick hair and _pull_ , to bite down on that full lower lip and shut him up for once, push him down onto the desk. Whether to fuck him or make him suffer, hard to tell which at the moment. Maybe a bit of both.

Rey snaps the band and shakes her head, as if she could shake the dark fantasy away. But she can’t. It lingers, like the smell of his cologne after he’s already left the room. Her lungs are suddenly too hot– burning– and she realizes she’s been holding her breath. She exhales in a gust and starts running again, sprinting to ignite the conflicted emotions into movement instead, transforming the guilt and desire into energy that she can control and manipulate as she wants. The exertion of pushing her body to the limit is both a relief and a punishment. 

It’s shameful to admit it, but no client, _no person,_ has ever provoked such a visceral reaction in her. Wanting him feels like a failure– it _is_ a failure, which is something she won’t allow for herself. Ben called her a coward to not admit it aloud, and maybe she is– but she’s also his doctor. It’s her responsibility to do no harm.

She rounds the block, muscles twitching in the humid evening air. Sweat trickles down her temple and her damp t-shirt clings to her skin. She shivers. Her empty hands clench and release in time with her thoughts.

Her logical, clinical side knows what she should do: drop him. Never see Ben Solo again, professionally or socially. Pass him along to another practice until Canady returns. It’s the safest, wisest choice.

The thought of it makes her heart squeeze. _“That’s what they all say when they leave.”_

It’s cruel to take his bid for connection, no matter how inappropriate, and twist that open vulnerability into a consequence. It may be professionally correct, but is it moral? Humane? Does it help him, or hurt him worse? She’d add her name to his list of rejection, further complicating the very issues she’s trying to unwind. 

It’s a Gordian knot with no easy solution. So what’s the best, worst choice? Her thighs quiver, weakening, and she’s forced to slow down to a walk. She catches her breath as the lamplights flicker on down her street. 

She’ll talk to Canady. Explain the situation and let him decide. He’s Ben’s routine doctor, after all, it’s his call to make. As much as she hates asking for help, Rey hates even more feeling that she’s failing a client. 

She walks back home, exhausted and no closer to an answer. 

_______________

She puts off calling Canady until Wednesday afternoon, finally mustering up the nerve during a gap between clients.

“Rey, my dear, wonderful to hear your voice! How are you?”

Canady sounds as jovial and booming as always. The big heart she knows so well clearly beats as strong post-surgery.

“I’m good, how are you feeling?”

“Just fine, but please tell my wife I’m allowed to eat carbohydrates. She’s trying to kill me with all these vegetables.”

“Am not, you old coot!” Deidre’s voice calls out from the background. 

Rey laughs and fiddles with the hem of her blouse. “Do you have a moment? I need a consult.”

“Certainly. Deidre, can you give us some privacy? Thanks, love.”

His voice returns, lower. “All right. Shoot.”

Rey sighs and fists her hand. She’s always hated disappointing authority figures. It’s part of the baggage of her childhood, when displeasure equated to a change of residential placement or something worse. Her throat feels tight, but she pushes through it.

“It’s about Ben Solo,” she swallows. “He’s, um, developed a bit of a fixation on me.”

Canady chuckles. “Not the least bit surprised. He’s a hound.”

Rey closes her eyes against the awkwardness. “His issues with women are at play, and with me being a source of authority and approval–”

“Did you sleep with him?” Canady interjects. “Fool around?”

“No!” In an instant, she’s flushed and indignant, shocked at hearing the unthinkable spoken aloud. “No, of course not!”

“Well, then, what’s the problem?”

Her mind is racing along with her pulse, and her cheeks heat. “Err, he’s got a– a crush and it’s interfering. Distracting him. He’s flirting rather than working.”

Canady sounds more bemused than anything. It’s not the reaction she expected. “Rey, I’ve been working with him for almost a year. To be honest, it doesn’t really matter. He’s not going to change.”

Rey freezes. She’s never heard this sort of cynicism from her mentor. Her heartbeat seems to pound that much louder in comparison to the stillness of her body. 

Canady continues, “Luke only sent him to me to save face with the other partners. To make a show of it, because Ben is an incorrigible womanizer. But he’s got no reason to stop, because it works for him.” He chuckles, as if they’re sharing an inside joke.

Hearing this lack of faith is disturbing. It feels perilously close to abandonment, and nothing triggers her more than that. Rey has the sudden urge to defend Ben, to take his side when it seems no one else will. 

“It’s clearly compensation from his divorce and the stress of working with family. The behavior isolates him emotionally and will contribute to a poor self-image over time. It _is_ a problem, Moden.”

“Oh, I do agree with you! But if Ben himself doesn’t recognize that, we certainly cannot convince him. Not when the benefits are so tempting, if you will.” Canady chuckles again. 

A bitter disappointment coats her mouth as he continues, “But please don’t worry, Rey. Since there’s no insurance involved, if Ben wants to read you Shakespearean sonnets or wax poetic about your eyes for the hour, let him have at it. The session cost is the same, and you’re still doing your duty.”

She sighs. She had prepared herself to stop seeing him for his own good, but instead she now feels even more conflicted and dogged in his defense. 

“I just– I don’t think I can do that. I want to help him.”

“I know, dear. Do what you think is best. But in terms of worrying? I don’t think _Ben_ is even worried about Ben, so nothing you do will harm him.”

Rey closes her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose. “Okay. I mean, okay.”

“As long as he doesn’t try any funny business, of course. Then you tell him to leave immediately. You’re not worried for your safety, are you?”

“No, no, of course not.” 

“Okay, good. Just listening to him is doing a service. I think he just likes someone to talk to.”

“Yes,” she replies, feeling suddenly very tired. “I think so, too.”

“You’re doing a great job, Rey. Conscientious as always. Thank you.”

“Of course, Doctor,” she says, voice trailing off. 

They end the call and she sits back in the office chair, limbs heavy. Slowly pushing herself in a circle, she swivels around the room aimlessly in the chair, tracking the wood paneling.

Who can you count on when even your own therapist holds out no hope for you? Had everyone given up on Ben but her?

Rey spins back around to face her laptop and does something that is technically against the rules, but which she feels is necessary in this case. 

She Googles Ben Solo. 

The first hits are his professional pages. Ben in a crisp, black suit with the familiar arrogant smile from his law firm headshot. News articles about high-profile wins and losses, the announcement he was promoted to points partner the same year as his divorce.

Next are photos of him with his ex-wife.

Bazine Netal is beautiful and model-thin with sleek dark hair that matches his. A socialite from a prominent family, she’s his perfect complement in looks and status. They stand together like a matched set, dressed impeccably and holding the stems of wine glasses at various charity events and social occasions. Their smiles even match, teeth hidden away and not quite reaching the eyes.

The divorce notice is as subtle and classy as their wedding announcement nearly two years’ prior. Bazine Netal, daughter of a U.S. Senator, divorces Benjamin Solo, the son of another. No children, no scandal. The union dissolved quietly as if it never existed.

Rey stares at a photo of them side-by-side from supposedly happier times. If she didn’t know any better, they could be siblings. The same dark good looks and the apparent lack of chemistry. Identical “my mom made me wear this” smiles for the camera. Photos of them with his family at firm events are just as posed and stilted, featuring the same distant expressions and the smile Rey now knows is Ben’s fake one. It leaves her feeling cold and sad. 

It takes some digging, as Ben doesn’t seem to be photographed outside of work settings– with no Facebook or personal social media traces to be found– but the oldest photo she discovers is from his law school days. She almost doesn’t recognize him. 

His hair is shaggier and he’s pulling off his baseball cap as he walks in from the field. His grin is huge and loose, and the way his eyes crinkle at the edges takes off years. The little half-moon crescents are so boyish it makes her smile. His law school softball team played in a championship that they ultimately lost, based on the caption, yet she’s never seen him look so naturally happy.

Rey downloads the picture, although she couldn’t explain why. She just knows she wants to remember the way he looks when he’s truly happy.

She sits back in the chair, tenting her fingers under her chin. The real question– the bottom line– is whether she can manage him or not. His attempts to blur the lines are meaningless if she holds the boundaries firm. It really all boils down to her.

She’s still deciding what to do as she walks home that night.

_______________

Thursday arrives. Rey picks out a navy-blue linen shell and pairs it with cream capri-length slacks and the nude flats. It’s hot, but she wants her legs covered. She pulls her hair into a trademark low bun, slicking down the flyaways to appear crisp and controlled, and adds small jeweled studs.

She eyes herself in the mirror, making sure she’s the very image of a professional. The butterflies in her stomach betray that she’s nervous to see him. She’s thought about little else than this decision for the last few days, and she’s got the red mark around her wrist to prove it. It will be a relief to move forward, regardless.

Kaydel sets out the file folder with the evening client receipts before leaving for the day. If she notices any unusual tension in Rey, she’s respectful enough to not mention it. After her six o’clock client leaves, Rey makes sure to leave the inner office door unlocked. 

Tonight, she’s prepared for him.

Ben Solo appears in her doorway right on time, her last appointment for the evening.

“Hello, Dr. Niima.” He’s as reserved and formal as his smile. His suit jacket is buttoned, hands hidden in the trouser pockets. 

“Hello, Ben. Come on back.” 

She gestures to the couch. His tension is contagious, and her own shoulders stiffen as she gathers her steno book and pen and seats herself in the chair. 

They take their places, just as usual, but the weight of the silence is heavy tonight.

Ben purses his lips and looks down. 

She clears her throat before speaking. No reason to beat around the bush, time to get it over with.

“Ben, I spoke with Dr. Canady, and I wanted to tell you about the conversation.”

Ben cups his hands over his lap. His expression is grim and expectant. The very picture of a boy sent to the principal’s office and waiting for the hammer to fall. She’s thought carefully about how to present this to him. And whereas she doesn’t believe in lying, some selective withholding of information seems appropriate. 

“I discussed our last session in detail. We decided that as long as you are serious about working on yourself and maintaining the boundaries that I set, we can continue to meet.” Close enough to the truth. “Do you think you can do that?” 

His eyes dart up to hers, and it’s plain to see the surprise at the reprieve. The corner of his mouth draws up into a small smirk. “What are the boundaries, specifically?”

She lifts her brows to indicate she’s serious, to make sure he’s taking note. “No prying into my social life. No touching me. No hitting on me.”

He cocks his head. “What about legitimate questions? Are they allowed?” 

Always the attorney, looking for loopholes. “You may ask questions, but if I refuse to answer, then that’s it.”

He smiles, a bit fiendish. “What if you touch me?”

_“Ben,”_ she replies in gentle warning.

He lifts his hands with a grin, sheepish. “It’s okay with me– just want to put that out there.”

“Noted. Not going to happen, but noted.”

“What else?” He leans back into the seat and unbuttons his jacket. The sharp lines of his shoulders and jaw have eased. He’s relaxed now, closer to his usual self. 

She’s relieved, too. It feels like a truce. 

“I think that’s enough to start, don’t you?” She’s not entirely sure Ben can stick to these rules, or even that she wants him to, entirely. Despite how he tests and tempts her, how he gets under her skin and pulls, Ben’s also her most fascinating and entertaining client. The time with him flies by. It’s not until she delivered the news that she realized herself how sad she’d be to let him go.

“What do you think?”

“I can do that,” he says, smiling. “You didn’t even have to slap the shit out of me yet.”

“Yet.” She smiles back, teasing him a bit. “I’d like to start off with a topic tonight that we haven’t discussed before.”

“Okay, hit me,” he says, grinning. “So to speak.” 

“Childhood.”

He looks away as his head sags forward in an exaggerated show of boredom. His lips move as if he’s about to curse under his breath, but he straightens up and nods. 

She appreciates the effort to be good for her. She flips through her notes. “You told me before ‘you were too quiet’ to get much attention when you were young. I wondered what kind of boy you were?”

“Adorable, if my mother is to be believed, although the photos seem to prove otherwise.” He shrugs as his voice lowers. “She wasn’t around much to notice anyway.”

“She worked a lot?”

He nods. “I was a kid during her first Senate campaign. As the junior Senator, she had to earn her stripes in committee. The cause always comes first.” His tone is tight, as if reciting a rote phrase. 

“And your father?”

“He travelled more than he was home, always working on one of his failed business ventures.” Ben scratches a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I don’t remember much about childhood except being alone a lot.”

_Alone._

Rey knows what it’s like to grow up lonely. How that can empty you in ways that feel impossible to fill. You learn to carve out from the world the things you need, because no one else will just give them to you. 

She remembers her recurring dream and the physical ache in her chest when she wakes. Maybe Ben carries the same ache, but he had a home. It was just always empty.

“How did you cope being on your own?” she asks.

“I don’t know . . . books. Video games. Sports. Typical boy shit.”

“How about girls?” 

“As a kid? No.” Ben laughs and shakes his head. “I was awkward and skinny, all nose and ears. I shot up six inches one summer before I filled out in high school. No girl looked twice at me until college.”

It’s hard to peel back the confidence and suave physicality of the man before her to see that lonely, yearning boy. The need to please and be accepted by women must have put down its roots back then. It makes sense for him to seek the approval of women after a childhood of going without.

She looks up at the clock on the wall. They’ve made it past the half-way mark, and even though the conversation is clearly uncomfortable for him, Ben hasn’t deflected once. That seems like progress. 

Maybe Canady was wrong, and Ben can change.

“So no girlfriends until what age?”

“No girlfriends until college.”

“But you lost your virginity at eighteen?” She realizes a bit too late that she didn’t look at her notes for that info. Her cheeks heat as she belatedly flips through the pad to cover for her just remembering that. She clears her throat and adds as cover, “I think that’s what you mentioned.”

“Yeah. The summer before college. Jess.”

“Tell me about that, if you will.” She readies her pen, and turns to a fresh page. She licks her lips and waits, doodling in the margin. Giving him some space.

“Our families vacationed together sometimes. It was Italy that year, the southern coast. I got a little wasted on red wine at dinner. Our parents were going out that night, so we were sitting by the pool. I think I kissed her first, but it’s all a blur. Before I knew it, we were in the pool house and she was riding me like a bucking bronco.”

Something in his tone catches her attention, and her brow crinkles. She looks up at him. He’s looking at his hands again, not gloating. 

“So it wasn’t something you decided to do?”

He turns both palms upwards. “I mean, she was a cute girl. I liked her. But without the liquid courage, I never would’ve made a move.”

“Was she as drunk as you?”

“Probably not. She was older, and I didn’t drink then so had no tolerance.” He won’t meet her eyes directly. 

Her stomach drops. “Ben, what you describe, it sounds like you were taken advantage of. If you can’t remember it, you were not sober enough to consent.”

He shrugs again. “I probably would’ve said yes. I was terrified of girls. We fucked a few more times that trip, then never spoke about it again.” 

This sensitive, lonely boy, who was too shy to even speak to girls his own age, was used and tossed aside by an older woman. Treated like a toy and discarded. Rey feels a rage start to boil, low and deep. “But you didn’t say yes, because you couldn’t consent.” Her voice is firm, authoritarian. “She was older and had more responsibility if she was sober.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

She wonders how much of this first sexual experience Ben absorbed subconsciously and informs him of his worth even today. If he was used, does he use others the same way? 

“How do you think of it?” 

“I don’t,” he leans forward, elbows on knees, manner shifting back to Lothario. His emotional shield. “There've been so many women that I’ve fucked since then, that she doesn’t ever cross my mind. But thank you for defending my honor, Doctor,” he says with a smirk. “She did deflower me in my vulnerable state.”

“Don’t do that. Brush it off. It’s not funny,” Rey says, a bit snippy that he's treating it like it doesn't matter.

He cocks his head at her with narrowed eyes. Curious. “Are you upset?”

Rey re-crosses her legs and sighs. “I’m sad that your first time was with someone who took advantage of a young man looking for connection. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

His dark eyes sweep over her face. She thinks he’s going to make another joke, but instead he swallows. “Thank you,” he says softly. It’s probably the quietest she’s ever heard him speak.

_“_ You’re welcome,” Rey says, meeting his gaze solidly. His open, earnest expression reminds her of what he said at the end of their last session.

_Alone._

She turns the page in her notebook. “You told me that you left the bar alone last week. I wanted to ask about that.”

His gaze tracks over her face as he shifts on the leather couch. “Okay.”

“You went there to meet a woman?”

“Yes.”

“For a sexual encounter?”

"Obviously." He smirks. “I’m not looking to do their taxes.”

She ignores the snark. “So why did you leave alone?”

Ben rolls his lips into his mouth, thinking. “I thought I couldn’t talk about that. I don’t want to break the rules.”

The words sink in as she tries to decode them. Processing the implication. She fidgets in her chair, picking around her response like walking through a minefield.

“Did you leave the bar because you thought it was something I would want for you?”

“No, I didn’t do it to please you.” His eyes meet hers, sharp. Bright.

“You didn’t see anyone you liked?”

“No, there were a few who caught my eye.”

“Why then?” She steels herself for his reply as her mind starts to buzz. She measures his reaction as her focus narrows to the curve of his jaw, the draw of his lips, the glimmer in his eyes.

His voice resides so deep in his chest that it rumbles as he says slowly, clearly, so there’s no misunderstanding possible, “I left alone because I didn’t want to take anyone else home.”

Her heart skips. She blinks at him and notes his seriousness before looking down at her page. There’s a follow-up question contained in his answer, but she won’t chase after it. She doesn’t want to hear Ben name aloud who that “anyone else” refers to.

Maybe she is a coward after all. It’s her turn to deflect and dance around it. “Was that unusual for you? To go home alone?”

“Relatively,” he sighs. A bit disappointed perhaps. “But not unheard of.”

“What about this week?”

His eyes are simmering as they graze over her. “No one else.”

Interesting. Confusing. What is his game? She pushes down the swirl of emotions to be unpacked later and flips into clinical mode. “How does that feel for you?”

“Like I have the biggest set of blue balls in the city. But besides that, surprisingly fine.”

Absolutely confounding. She’s almost dizzy from this unexpected change that he relays to her so calmly, as if it’s no big deal. As if his sudden control of himself doesn’t negate the need for sexual addiction therapy altogether. As if Moden Canady wasn’t dead wrong about him and his potential for growth.

“I’ve been able to keep myself occupied in other ways. The mind is a powerful thing.” He winks.

“Mhhm,” she agrees, distracted as she looks down, drawing circles in the margin. She lets that one go, remembering all too clearly how she’s ‘occupied’ herself with thoughts of him recently.

Her mind is still reeling to take in this abrupt change of behavior and what prompted it. He hasn’t slept with anyone this week, hasn’t wanted anyone _else._ She won’t ask him who he means by the “else.”

It hangs in the air like a cloud over them.

“Like your rubber band. Maybe I’ll try it. Control the thought, control the behavior.” He points. “Why aren’t you wearing it today, Doctor?”

Rey looks down at her wrist, covered now with a soft, leather cuff to hide the red mark from all her snapping. Trying to not think about Ben Solo has left a mark on her, literally.

“Um, I took a little break.”

“So did it work?” 

His demeanor is calm, not teasing. His intelligent eyes carry a deeper softness. She smiles, secure that he’s got no idea what the band is truly for. “No, it’s an ongoing struggle.” 

“Guess we both have our work to do,” he replies.

She nods and looks up at the clock. Only a few minutes remaining. She’s trying to decide how to wrap up the session, her mind still stuck on the words _no one else._

“One thing keeping me busy is a case with co-counsel in London. Their office isn’t far from Maida Vale,” Ben says, leaning forward.

“Oh, really?” Rey looks back to him. “I know that area well.” It’s the neighborhood of her last foster home, the happiest one.

He smiles as he watches her reaction. “I may have a chance to live there next year to prep for trial, but I don’t know anything about London.”

“Oh, it’s not hard to get around. I could help you. Give you some tips on restaurants,” she replies automatically, as she rises from her chair to conclude.

“I was hoping so. Maybe I can take you out to dinner? Since I won’t be a client anymore.”

Her eyes snap back to his. Alert now. “Once a client, always a client, Ben.”

“Hmm, that’s not technically true, in a legal sense,” he murmurs, looking at his watch casually, “but sadly I need to get back to the office now. We can discuss it more next time.”

He rises to leave, but she calls out, “Wait, one moment.”

She walks to her bag and pulls out an extra hair tie. She hands it to him and he takes it with a grin.

“I’m not really the man-bun type,” he kids.

“It may be a bit small for you, but it will stretch as you use it,” she explains. “To help you keep your goals in mind this week. You did so well today.” 

He stretches it over his wide palm up to his wrist, then slips it under the dress shirt, pulling down the cuffs one at a time.

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll try my best to make you proud.”

“Better yet, make yourself proud,” she says.

He gives her a small salute and she leans a hip on the desk to watch him walk away. After the outer office door swings closed, she reseats herself behind the desk to finish up her notes while they’re still fresh in her mind.

So much has shifted in just an hour, so many new developments. After her mind gradually settles, two things become clear:

  * Ben didn’t mention what his specific goal is for the week, so she doesn’t know how he’ll use the band. She should’ve asked.
  * She’s positive she never mentioned growing up in Maida Vale, and there’s no way that is a coincidence.



So Ben Solo’s been researching her, too.


	6. Session Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest Readers-  
> This fic is going to be the death of me. Whatever possessed me to write a story set in therapy when I am NOT a therapist, with such complex themes and interactions, and that is so dialogue and character driven, instead of say.... just some filthy-mouthed porn, lol... I do not know. 
> 
> This is harrrrrdddddd. (whine whine) 
> 
> I don't typically ask for comments, but to be perfectly frank: your enthusiasm and kind words are absolutely necessary for me to keep going. If you enjoy this, please let me know! This one is a beast for me, and I do love it but I also need your engagement and support to make it happen. 
> 
> So thank you. Your generosity is a part of the process. I appreciate each of you so much. 
> 
> __________
> 
> Thanks to my incredibly supportive beta and friend, @dangertaylor, for her insight. 
> 
> Thanks also to my network of writer friends who keep me stable and sane. You all know who you are very well. <3
> 
> _______
> 
> Please enjoy this FABULOUS and stunning moodboard by Ana @twbyana on Twitter! This is art, pure and simple. I'm just astounded by her talent and the thought and creativity that went into this. 
> 
> Thank you, my friend!

It’s been three days and roughly six hours since she’s last seen Ben Solo, with two days remaining until she sees him next. 

Rey wishes she wasn’t so acutely aware of this fact. 

Saturday morning is spent at home emailing overseas shipping companies for estimates. Her friend Siobhan connected her with the owner of a downtown row house who’s looking for a tenant. She’ll be stationed in Thailand for two years on a foreign service deployment, so it’s the perfect fit. 

Rey sets out on a run before lunch, adding an extra mile to the route to challenge herself. The only way to grow stronger is to push up to the point of fatigue and failure, then go even further the next time. She’s shaking by the time she returns home, her body spent but satisfied.

Afterwards, curled up on the sofa in lounge pants with a cup of hot tea and her laptop, she dives into the literature determined to unravel the knot of how to help Ben.

Most published studies on transference are conducted by male therapists and focused on female patients. The gender bias is obvious. The reversal of that dynamic– a male patient and female therapist– is a more modern phenomenon far less documented in research.

A study in _The Journal of Psychotherapy Practice and Research_ entitled “Erotized Transference in the Male Patient–Female Therapist Dyad,” seems on-point. She scrolls to the worst-case scenario and nibbles a lip.

_Erotized transference is a particular species of erotic transference, an extreme sector of a spectrum. It is an intense, vivid, irrational erotic preoccupation with the analyst, characterized by overt, seemingly ego-syntonic demands for love and sexual fulfillment from the analyst. The erotic demands may not seem unreasonable or unjustified to the patient…, [and] the urge toward real fulfillment, rather than fantasied substitute gratification, [is] often associated with an altered sense of consciousness and reality. (p. 63)_

Hmm. Ben is more garden-variety cocky rather than a narcissist. He doesn’t appear to suffer from unusual delusions, and in fact, exhibits a high degree of self-awareness. His hypersexuality and attempts to divert from his own issues cause him to act out, especially since he seeks her acceptance as a female authority figure.

Rey pauses. Does Ben want only sex from her? Is that all it is between them? Her jaw clenches in a combination of offense and humiliation. She can’t deny it bruises her ego if she’s just another notch for his bedpost. As taboo as erotic transference is, it’s still insulting to think of herself as nothing more than an object to him.

She takes a sip of her honey-sweetened tea and scrolls to the next page.

_The conditions for transference can be encouraged by a therapist’s error in technique and countertransference. Clients with a history of Oedipal fixation or sexual trauma and/or isolation are more susceptible, as are older male clients and less-experienced female therapists. Analysts who react with shock or offense to the transference, rather than empathy, may encourage the fascination. The first session can give clues to whether a client is susceptible to transference–_

She remembers their first session clearly. Ben watching her. Calling her pretty. She ignored him, just like his mother had ignored him, and–

Rey groans and wipes her face. “Fuck! _Fuck it,_ ” she slaps the laptop shut and stands. This is her fault. As she begins to pace, she replays every error she’s made in session that unwittingly encouraged him. The guilt is a weight in her chest.

After a few minutes, she calms down enough to sit. Beating herself up won’t help. What matters is moving forward. 

The term “Ego-syntonic” refers to the ideas and behaviors that are compatible with an individual’s self-identity. Ben defines his promiscuity as consistent with his belief of self. To shift the behavior into the realm of the unacceptable– or, the ego-dystonic– his values must shift. Ben must believe that this pattern of behavior is harmful to him. He must believe that he deserves to be cherished and not just used, that he’s worth more.

He needs hope. 

They must focus on his self-image and worth, not just behavior. Ben deserves to be in a loving relationship and seen for who he really is. She can make him feel accepted in session. When Ben feels safe, he’ll open up more without the armor and games. She’s sure of it.

Rey won’t give up on him. Even if Ben doesn’t have any hope for himself, she does.

Maybe for now that’s enough.

_______________

  
  


He’s never late for an appointment, so it’s no surprise that she finds him in the waiting area a few minutes early for his 4 pm on Tuesday. He’s sitting on the corner of Kaydel’s desk chatting her up. Both are smiling. 

When Rey opens the door, he looks up and casually says, “Hello, Doc.” His fingers are woven together loosely in his lap as a large leg dangles over the edge of the desk. Kaydel studies his profile for a moment longer before turning with bright eyes. 

Clearly smitten.

“Are you ready?” Rey asks, her words a bit clipped.

“Yup.” Ben looks back to Kaydel. “Until next time, dimples.”

Kaydel giggles and leans back in her chair. Rey feels a surge of annoyance, a primal flare that is closely followed by a sweep of guilt. She’s got no right to feel possessive. His friendship with Kaydel is not a threat.

Her pulse is slow to receive the message, however.

Ben walks inside and sits on the couch, palms sweeping down his thighs. Rey closes the door behind them. 

“So how are you?” 

“No complaints.” Ben unbuttons his suit jacket. It’s a warm summer day. The sun shines through the nearby window, giving his hair a slight reddish sheen. If only her own hair were as thick or manageable in the humidity. It’s unfair such generous waves are graced to a man.

“The week’s going well?” She asks, seating herself in the chair. 

“Work sucks, but it always sucks.” Ben places one shoe on the inner arch of the other. He’s got a slight pigeon-toe, as if his legs are too long to fold easily into a sitting position. The habit is at odds with his slick demeanor, but is so endearing she has to consciously look away to stop staring.

Focus.

“Last time, I gave you a band.”

He holds up his wrist. “Still got it.”

“And I realized after you left, I forgot to ask what your specific goals were this week. What were you being mindful about?”

He cocks his head as his smile deepens. “Isn’t it obvious what’s always on my mind?”

She crosses her legs. “So, sex.”

His smile holds. 

“Has it been working?”

“Define working.”

“Have you been able to notice or control your thoughts?”

“Not yet.” He leans forward and looks down at his wrist, twisting the band between two thick fingers.

“It’s a regular practice. Noticing is the first step.”

His eyes float back to hers and glimmer. “I noticed I’ve been thinking a lot about this one woman.” 

“Oh?” She flips the page of her steno pad, not particularly thrilled to listen to the lurid details of his latest fantasy. 

“I can’t get her off my mind.”

Obsessive thoughts are not unusual with hypersexuality. “Is it someone you know?” Rey studies the blank page. She begins counting the horizontal lines, one by one, moving down as he speaks. Preparing herself for what filthy thoughts he’s conjured up now.

Why does she feel so tense today?

“Yes, but I haven’t had her yet.”

_Had her._ Like tasting food. She sucks in her cheek and doodles a star in the margins, swallowing down the annoyance.

“She’s gorgeous. Smart. Strong.”

“Hmm, so your type.” Rey has zero interest in hearing about the woman’s qualities. She blinks up laconically to find that Ben is staring directly at her with a fiendish glow in his eyes.

That look is a dead giveaway. It’s her. Her stomach swoops. 

His gaze draws down to her lips. “Totally my type. Fucking sexy as hell, but I don’t think she realizes it.”

“Oh, I’m sure she does.” Rey smiles coyly, volleying back the innuendo. Playing his little game.

He smiles back, never breaking character. He rubs two fingers together lazily, like measuring salt. “I know she wants me, too, she just won’t admit it yet. But that’s okay. There’s plenty of time.”

So damn sure of himself. His gaze doesn’t waver and the tension makes her shift in her seat. “You’ve been using the band when you think of her?”

“Yes, but it’s not working.”

“It’s just a reminder of your goals,” she says.

“That’s why it’s not working. My goal is to have her.”

She holds herself in absolute stillness. He hasn’t technically broken their rules, because he’s not coming onto her _directly._ The consummate lawyer, he’s walking that thin line, but they both know what he’s doing. She won’t encourage him by responding. Ignore, ignore. 

“A woman isn’t a goal, Ben. She’s a person with her own set of experiences and autonomy.”

He looks down at the carpet, leaning forward so his elbows brace on his knees. “Of course, and this woman’s special. It will require some work, but everything worth having in life does, right Doctor?”

“I’d say so.” She smiles politely, keeping her tone light. Professionally oblivious. “I appreciate you trying to make a change. Re-training the mind takes conscious effort.”

“Can you really, though? Train your thoughts?” He slides his suit jacket down the slope of his shoulders and folds it carefully in half before draping it over the back of the couch. 

She watches him as she answers. As if to prove her point, she snaps her own band. His eyes flicker down to her wrist then back to her face, but he says nothing. 

“Yes,” she answers with conviction. “Once we notice our thought patterns, we can learn to manage them. They don’t need to control us.”

He hooks an arm over the back of the couch, the swell of deltoid muscle pulling tight under the white fabric. His large body looks both paradoxically ill-suited to business attire, yet _so damn good_ in it, simultaneously. 

“What about feelings?” His amber eyes bore into hers. “Can you control those, too?”

“Yes,” she responds by rote. “Feeling is just an emotional response to thought.” 

“You really believe that?” he stretches back and his chest widens further, the buttons of the shirt struggling to contain his considerable mass.

She has to turn away, looking to the safety of the window to keep her eyes under control. “Yes. Change the thought, the feelings will follow. Then we change the behavior.”

He smiles softly. “Must be so tiring to always be in control.”

She knits her brow. “How do you mean?”

“To never just let go. Give in to what you want. Must be exhausting to justify everything with logic, instead of just– taking it.”

Rey swallows as the burn of his stare warms her own skin. It feels like more than just a theoretical question, it’s also a dare. The razor sharp implications underneath his words seem to slice through her best defenses, and she squirms in her seat. 

“I suppose we all may choose how to engage with the world,” she says, trying to pull him back into safer waters.

“It’s not a choice, it’s _freedom_ from choice.” His voice rises, emphatic and animated. “Just like you, I think all day long. After that, I just want to feel _._ ”

_Like her evening runs._ Ben just uses his body in a different way. “So sleeping with women gives you that release?”  
  


“Fuck yeah, that’s the point.” He chuckles and grins, like a little boy who just caught a ball.

“Then it would be easier to stay with one woman, wouldn’t it? Is it the release you seek or the thrill of the hunt?” 

Why does she feel so suddenly adamant that Ben understands the difference between the two? To prove Canady wrong, or to prove it to herself? She taps the pen on her paper. It feels like a test, and she wants him to get the right answer.

He reclines back and his pose, chest open and arms stretched wide, looks like a summons. Ben’s gaze simmers as he speaks slowly, giving each word its due. 

“If I had the right woman, I wouldn’t miss the hunt.”

It’s what she wanted him to say, but her scalp still prickles. The way his eyes catch hers. She can feel the pressure of the silence building, and she looks away first.

“What would being with the right woman be like?”

“I don’t know, haven’t found her yet.” He smiles. “So I’ll just keep fucking until the glass slipper fits.”

She’s getting better at avoiding being distracted by his lewd humor, to zero in on the meaning underneath. “What does the ‘right woman’ look like to you?” she asks, using air quotes to appear professional and disinterested. Even she would call out the cowardice in that, because in reality she’s dying to know the answer. Both as his Doctor, and as a woman.

“Intelligent. Curious. Witty. Not afraid to call me on my bullshit or challenge me, because otherwise it’s boring. Enjoys experiencing life in all the forms– art, music, food, new places. Not judgmental or small-minded. Honest.”

She looks up again after writing it all down to find he’s staring at her again. 

“Beautiful. Physical. Sexual. Not afraid to experiment or to ask for what she wants and needs.”

Rey slows her breath to equalize it. In and out, repeat. She hopes her cheeks are not pink, but if so, she’ll blame the heat of the room. She won’t fall under his spell. Focus on Ben and his self-identity.

“Was your ex-wife those things?”

“Bazine?” Ben surprises her with a chortle. “Hell, no.”

“How did you meet?” 

“Our parents set us up. The perfect match.” He looks at the bookshelf and rakes a hand through his hair. “How better to secure your legacy than to make your kids fuck for it?”

The bitterness is obvious. “But you cared for her?”

He swallows, before speaking again in a softer a voice. “I was thirty and hadn’t met anyone. She seemed to be everything I could want. Rich, ambitious, elegant. We had the same friends, swam in the same circles.” He exhales. “It wasn’t until our first anniversary I realized I had no idea who she actually was.”

She’s mesmerized. He hasn’t deflected the topic yet and is making a real effort to reflect. A rising tide of optimism lifts her spirits. Maybe they’re actually getting somewhere. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs. The smile drains away as he begins to withdraw inward, the leather of the old couch creaking under his weight as he shifts, clearly not comfortable.

“It’s okay if you don’t want–”

“No, I mean it. Nothing.” He combs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “After the first year, the adrenaline wore off. We literally stopped talking. We had nothing in common. The words went before the sex, but that followed fast behind.”

Rey notices how his limbs seem stiffer, heavier. His demeanor has lost the sauve mobility of confidence, and it’s fascinating to see his body reflect the change as frustration takes over.

“We just avoided each other. I worked later than I had to, she was always out shopping. We spoke more at dinners with our parents than in a whole month alone. It just . . . disappeared. I can’t explain it better than that.”

He shakes his head and looks to the side. His jaw rolls. Rey feels a pang in her own chest in sympathy. 

He turns back to her, and the confusion pools in his eyes. No act now, just truth. “One morning, she walked out of the bathroom in a towel with her hair done up like–” He makes a swirl above his head, but Rey doesn’t smile at the gesture. She only listens, too captivated to break his train of thought.

“And she looked like a stranger. I felt nothing. I realized I had no idea who she was. I didn’t marry Bazine, I married a fucking figment of my imagination. Like a placeholder for a wife. There was no love there, there was . . . nothing.”

She sorts through the potential follow-up questions, processing his words, and settles on the obvious.

“Did she feel the same way?”

“Who knows?” He shakes his head. She sees he’s being genuine. He actually _doesn’t_ know. “I told her I wanted a separation. She didn’t fight it. In fact, she never fought about anything, because that would require giving a shit. She just said, ‘Okay, Ben. I want what’s best for you.’”

Rey holds steady against the urge to flinch at her own words from earlier spoken from his ex-wife’s lips. The wounds are still fresh for him.

“Maybe those are the last words she ever spoke to me?” His brows crease, trying to remember. “We had a prenup, so the divorce was easier to plan than the wedding.” He rotates his palms up. Empty. “And that was that.”

It’s not what she expected. She thought maybe an unbalanced passion, the fiery anger of constant fighting, or a breaking of trust. This is a cold, dark place full of quiet confusion. Ben never had a real connection with his wife, so in some ways the loss cut even deeper for it.

_Alone._

“What do you think about now, when you think of the divorce?”

“Relief,” he quirks his lips into the shallow semblance of a smile. 

“Are you trying to wipe away her memory with other women?”

He snorts. “That would imply there was something worth remembering. A month after the divorce, she was already on a private island with her new boyfriend. I just moved on in a different way.”

“Are you trying to prove to her that other women want you?”

His lips twitch. “I don’t have to prove it. Women _do_ want me.”

She pushes him on this. “So why not date, Ben? Spend time building a relationship with a new partner?”

His eyes draw to hers like magnets. “Why should I invest in something with inevitably diminishing returns?”

Rey leans forward, perching her folded arms on her knees, lifting her brows to make her point. “What about this ‘right woman’ you mentioned? There are other women out there worth your time, you just have to find them.”

Ben responds by leaning in closer, mirroring her. “Well, there’s one, at least.”

She prepares to respond, but he speaks first. “I haven’t gotten a question in, may I have a turn?”

Although she hates to give up control of the discussion, he’s been so good. He deserves a reward for asking nicely. “Okay.”

“What was it like being in a foster home?”

She sits back, whiplash from the switch in topics to her own life. “Umm.”

“Is that too personal?” The concern in his voice makes her relax a bit. He’s asking, not pushing. Ben’s expression is open, his warm eyes are kind. 

She finds herself responding. “Well. I was in the system from the age of six, so some were not very good. The last was the best one. I was there for four years.”

“How bad were the bad ones?” he asks gently.

She swallows, feeling the urge to get up and move. Instead she taps her pen on the paper in time with the shake of her foot. “There was some neglect. Some emotional abuse, I’d say. I was struck a few times, but it could’ve been far worse. They switched my placements several times to my benefit.”

“Is that why you went into psychology?”

She hasn’t answered this question directly in a long while, preferring to develop responses to avoid it on dates or at cocktail parties. _I thought minds were fascinating so I wanted to dive into them,_ she’d quip. Or, _What could be more powerful than understanding human behavior? Please pass a napkin._

Yet today, Rey finds she wants Ben to know the real reason. She wants him to know why. 

“I was a very lonely child. I had attachment issues and did not make friends easily, and of course moving often didn’t help matters. So I made up an imaginary friend to speak to. I would tell him all my feelings and thoughts, and he would listen. I found it made me feel better. In my mind, my friend was always there to listen to me, even when no one else did. As I got older, and I learned about psychology from my social worker and what it entailed, I decided that I wanted to give to other people what I had always wanted: someone to listen and to care.”

It’s opening a door that’s been long-slammed shut. The words tumble out on their own. As she speaks, her gaze dances across his face, down to his hands, around the room, never quite settling in one place. Upon finishing, she takes a deep breath and steels herself to face him again. She feels a bit smaller and wonders if she’ll see him judging her as pathetic as she feels.

Ben’s face is impassive. His generous mouth is relaxed, eyes unwavering and brow smooth. It would appear a neutral expression to most, but Rey sees beyond it to what it actually is: the real Ben Solo. 

He gives her the gift of silence, simply looking at her as she draws back her shoulders again.

“And have you?” He finally asks.

“Have I what?”

“Helped people?” 

“Yes, I have.” She lifts her chin proudly. “I am, right now.”

“You think you can help me?” There’s a deep quality in his voice, something rising and ominous. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Why are you so sure I can be helped?” It’s a challenge.

“Oh, Ben, everyone can.”

He stands suddenly. Rey has to crane her neck up to keep eyes on him.

“So you say that to everyone. It has nothing to do with me.”

He walks to the window, tucking hands into his pants’ pockets. With a shoulder leaned on the wall, he turns away from her to look outside.

She watches him, puzzled. “Are you angry?”

He huffs, but won’t look at her. “No.”

“I don’t understand your reaction. Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

His head snaps back to her, eyes narrowed. “Am I just another appointment for you? A slot between the screaming Wexleys and your next basketcase?”

She recoils at his harsh tone. “I care about all my clients.”

He smiles, a bitter and cruel smile. “So for $300 an hour anyone can buy a little of that care?”

After being so vulnerable with him, laying her truth bare, her temper flares at his ingratitude and selfishness. She rises from her chair to face him on equal ground. “That’s not fair. This is my profession, Ben.”

“Yes, yes, I know. You care about your job. And when I leave here, and think about you all night, you’ll jot down your little notes in your files and move on to the next pity case. And in a few weeks time, you’ll fly home and forget I ever existed.”

“I won’t forget.” She responds instantly. Too quickly. 

His gaze hits her again. 

“I won’t forget you,” she repeats. 

He takes two steps closer, and she takes a step back on instinct as her chest tightens. 

“You want to know why I don’t date women? Because they don’t see me. They see a lawyer, a rich guy, a good fuck. They don’t see _me.”_ He points at his own chest and her eyes follow.

He takes another step and she holds her ground this time, looking up at him as he searches her face. “Do you see me? Or am I just like your invisible friend? Am I just another client to you, that’s all?”

“Ben, you _are_ my client.”

His eyes flash, jaw tensing. “Not if I fire you.”

She gapes at him. 

“Would you still care about me, if I’m not paying you to?”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.” Rey scowls. “I don’t like your implication that my feelings are for sale.”

“And I don’t like being just another slot in your appointment book.”

She barely contains the snarl from her tone. “How do you think the women you sleep with feel? Just more names for your fucklist?” 

It’s a low blow, and uncharacteristically crude for her. Ben looks shocked. Out of a hundred ways she could’ve phrased that sentence to make a legitimate point, she chose the most petty one. She’s just too pissed at him at the moment to say it any better. 

He eyes her shrewdly for a minute. Then his smile blooms, lazy and slow, as his eyes simmer. “Are you _jealous,_ Doctor?”

“What? No,” Rey scoffs and turns away from him to return to her chair. She sits down and reclaims her pad, swallowing thickly. 

His voice rumbles from behind her as he walks closer. “I think you are.”

She hears footsteps, but won’t turn to look. Her heart rate comes down as she focuses on her breath. She tracks his shadow as it moves along the wall, moving closer.

Ben leans down to speak closer to her ear, his voice dropping to a lower register. “I think you’re jealous of the women on my fucklist.”

Her cheeks are hot and she licks her lips, refusing to look at him. Do not react.

“I wonder what type you’d be? I’ve given it some thought, and I think you’re what I call the stubborn sub.”

He’s goading her. Deflecting from himself and onto her. Rey clicks her pen and begins making notes. Giving every outward impression she’s unfazed, even as her mind is attuned to his every word and movement.

“What is that? It’s what I call a strong, independent woman who refuses at all costs to admit she likes to be held down and fucked like a ragdoll. Too stubborn to beg for it, but desperate for a good, hard fuck. So I have to work the words out of them. With my mouth.”

Her nerve endings are firing all over, and her skin feels electrified. Ben leans in closer and his hot breath tickles her ear. “Yes, I think you’d take some work. Wouldn’t you, Rey?”

She springs forward from her chair and rounds on him. “Enough.”

He’s smirking. So pleased with himself and his naughty mouth, for getting a rise out of her. The urge to put him in his place is strong, but this time Rey resists. She sees through the act, even though a slippery, hidden part of her thinks he may be accurate in his assessment of her, not that she’d admit that in a million years.

She steps closer, eyes glued to his, not backing down. “You want to make me uncomfortable, because you are.”

His smile drops somewhat.

“We both felt vulnerable today. You, for telling me about Bazine and sharing the fear that I don’t really care about you. Me, because I told you something painful about my childhood and you turned it on me. So you go back to the performance, the filthy mouth, to get me to reject you. Like it’s a game.”

He watches her intently as she steps up to him, confident she’s got his number now. “Don’t you see, neither of us are winning at this game? How does it serve you to hurt me, too?”

They stare at each other, a subtle crossing of swords that’s stretching toward the awkward. She watches him deflate before her eyes as the act falls away. 

“It doesn’t. I don’t want to hurt you.” He can’t meet her gaze and looks down at the floor. Chastened. 

“Then don’t. Don’t do that anymore,” she says gently.

He nods. “I’m sorry. I’ll try.”

A simple apology, but one she gratefully receives because it is real. 

“Thank you. I forgive you.” She smiles. “And I’m sorry about the fucklist comment, that wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s okay.” He peeks up at her from heavy brows, smiling wryly. “And you know I don’t keep a list.”

“So you claim,” she teases. His smile brightens as she walks to the desk and looks up at the clock. Five minutes left. 

She sits down behind the desk. “Cognitive Behavioral Therapy is a practical technique for identifying and changing harmful thought patterns. That’s where we go next. Awareness is the first step, so I have homework for you.”

“So you’re my professor now, too? This could be fun. I like role play,” he smirks.

Rey lets that one go. She writes down her assignment on a slip of paper as she explains it. “I want you to use the band to notice patterns of thought and to take notes on them. Two areas to focus on: One, any time you think a woman values you only for what you give to them.”

She looks at him to make sure he understands. His eyes are alert and fixed on her.

“Two, when you think of using sex as an release.”

“When I think about fucking or when I fuck?” he clarifies.

“Both.”

He snaps the band around his wrist, testing it. “I may break a bone,” he murmurs. 

She purses her lips and cocks her head at him. “Have you been with any partners since we last met?” She places an elbow on the desktop, bracing herself for the answer.

“None.” His stare is searing.

“Well, then I think you’ll be fine.” The thrill she feels is as much from surprise as victory. It makes her want to gloat, although nearly two weeks’ of celibacy is hardly worth celebration yet. “We must identify the patterns of thoughts that are causing you harm. Those two areas will do until our next meeting.”

“How do I take notes?” 

“You can keep a journal, or log them in your phone–”

“How about email?”

Rey nods, “Sure, whatever helps you to keep track.”

“Okay, email it is.” He checks his watch. “I have to get back to the office for a staff meeting. We’re on for this Thursday?” He seems strangely energetic.

“Yes.” It feels too easy somehow. She starts to wonder what she’s missing.

“Okay, until then.” He breezes over to scoop up the jacket off the couch and swings it over his shoulder. “Have fun with your next slot.”

She rolls her eyes, but still finds herself smiling as he leaves.

__________

  
  


At the end of the day, she’s packing up when her phone pings with a message. It’s an email from Ben Solo.

_7:37. Thought about pressing a certain special lady against her cherrywood desk, spreading her legs open and kneeling down between them to make her cry out and disturb the office neighbors._

Her eyes widen as her lips part. 

She may have made a terrible mistake.

  
  



	7. Session Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was such a long chapter it got chopped into two pieces. This is part 1. More is coming soon. 
> 
> We're getting into some real stuff now between them, so hang on tight!
> 
> Thank you SO, SO, much for your incredible support of me and this story last chapter. I will try to reply to each one individually, but please know that I read every single comment. I'm overwhelmed and humbled by your kindness and generosity. That's just such beautiful thing, that I was feeling low and you all came to my rescue. Thank you so much!!! You are the best. <3
> 
> Thanks to my kind beta, DangerTaylor, who keeps me grounded. She's insightful and amazing, go read her work and see for yourself.
> 
> I am in love with this fan art by @alantieislander on Twitter! This aesthetic is so perfect for the next couple chapters, she captured the essence of them so beautifully! Thank you so much!

Rey’s relationship with sleep is tolerable at best. Years of living in group homes took a toll on her. She’s uneasy with giving up the control of consciousness and the slightest sound will nudge her awake. 

Yet, tonight, she’s restless for a very different reason.

Ben’s emails arrive at a steady pace, as if sent straight from his libido to her inbox. As a clinician, it’s a fascinating glimpse into the mind of a highly-sexualized man. 

As a woman, it leaves her squirming. 

The second message arrives before she’s even home. Her bag buzzes on the bus, and she retrieves her phone to read his message.

_8:22 pm. Saw a hot redhead on the corner of Bleeker. She’d give me her number if I asked, I could tell. Didn’t want it._

Her eyes narrow as the bus slows before her stop. Is that for her benefit? 

She arrives home and drops her bag by the door to change for a late run. Her watch hums on her wrist as she ties her laces.

_8:39 pm. Thought about that special lady. The way she smells. I tried to find her perfume at Bergdorf’s once, just to know the name of it._

Rey exhales. It’s Coco Mademoiselle, but she’s not telling him that. 

She attempts to stop him right there.

_Ben, I don’t need these contemporaneously. Save them for our next session. The notes are for your awareness, foremost._

His reply comes so quickly that she wonders if the phone was already in his hand.

_I just want to be a good client for you. Why, is it making you uncomfortable?_

Cheeky. Always the litigator– trying to get her to admit that he’s getting under her skin. Rey bites the inside of her cheek and picks her words carefully.

_Whatever helps you identify negative thought patterns works for me. We can discuss tomorrow. Goodnight._

Ben doesn’t reply this time. She wonders if that will be it. Perhaps he just wanted to know he had her attention. She locks her apartment door and runs down the front steps, hands flexing as she takes a short route to burn off some steam.

But of course Ben won’t give up that easily, not when he has a captive audience. She’s toweling after the shower when another message buzzes from her bedside table. Leaning over to read it, her hands slow on her body. 

_10:06 pm. I keep thinking about her. What she feels like, tastes like. Is her skin as sweet and soft as it looks?_

Oh, shit. A wave of goosebumps roll down her arms. She can almost hear his voice saying that in a rich rumble, smooth like bourbon poured on the rocks. She rubs at her arms a bit roughly with the towel to warm the chills from her skin, trying not to think of his large hands tracing the exact same path.

He’s walking that fine line like a tightrope. Ben hasn’t explicitly broken their rules yet, but she won’t reinforce the behavior. No more responses.

Hair still wet, Rey pulls on a slate-grey linen night dress and switches off the light. She stares at the ceiling with her arms folded over her chest, fingers laced over her heart. The headlights of a car turning down her street slice across the dark ceiling. She takes a deep breath in and exhales.

God, she’s so lonely. 

Most of the time she doesn’t notice it amidst the daily clutter of thoughts about work or her future, carefully curating her mind to keep it loud and busy. It’s only in the silence when the pain hits. In moments like this, or in the morning after she has the recurring dream, that her chest feels heavy with it. 

The stone-like weight of being all alone in the world.

It’s been months since she’s been touched, _really touched,_ by anyone and her skin is nearly aching for it. 

The phone buzzes on the nightstand. She can’t resist picking it up.

_10:31 Have you ever wanted someone so bad that it hurt? You could actually feel the wanting, physically?_

Her heart races and she must stare at the screen for a solid minute, trying to work out how he could’ve known. Rey doesn’t believe in psychic connections or any of that nonsense. It’s a coincidence. Just two lonely people thinking close to the same thing at the same time.

Maybe Ben’s also lying in his bed right now. She imagines him, hair ruffled and shirt off, and his chest . . . ugh. 

This is torture. 

Her phone buzzes again. She turns it to silent. 

Huffing and rolling over, her back to it, Rey closes her eyes. Of course sleep won’t come to her tonight. Her skin is tight and nerves buzzing. She fights the urge to check for a few minutes more, then rolls over again and reaches for the phone. 

_11:08 pm. Can’t stop thinking about her. I want to taste her, drag her hot pussy to my mouth, make her shake so hard when she comes that first time, mindless with it but I won’t stop there…_

Jesus Christ. Her mouth goes dry and she covers it with a hand as she fidgets under the covers, reading with wide eyes in the dark room.

_11:11 pm. My hands around her waist and running over that sweet, round ass. I have to lick my lips or I’ll bite into it._

_11:17 pm. I don’t know what she likes yet, but I can imagine. Spanking? Yeah. Choking? Maybe. She likes to be held down, I can tell by the way she looks at my hands. She wants them on her._

_11:21 pm. I already came once today thinking of her. Gonna make it two._

Rey groans and rolls over, turning her phone face down. That little shit. Is he making himself come right now, thinking of her? God.Every inch of her skin is tingling, and she’s hot and tacky between her thighs. 

Fuck, she really wants to get off. Her eyelids close and she snaps the band on her wrist, hard. She wants to read his emails and fuck herself thinking of the way his muscles twitch when he jerks his cock, the look in his eyes as he does it . . . _damn it._

She shouldn’t do that– _really,_ really can’t do that, because it will just make things worse for her when she sees him next. 

Her phone buzzes again, and she covers her eyes and groans loudly. That’s it. She can’t take this anymore.

Rey throws back the covers and stomps out of her bedroom with her phone clenched in a fist. She scowls down at it as if it could feel guilty for what it’s doing to her. She plugs it into the kitchen wall and closes the door. There. Goodnight.

At almost one in the morning, she finally wipes at her face and gives in to the inevitable. She reaches for the toy from her bedside table, needing to release all that pressure before surrendering to the numbness of sleep.

Tomorrow will be hell.

__________

  
  


Rey manages to shower and get dressed without racing first thing to the kitchen, considering that bit of self-restraint a minor accomplishment. She covers the dark circles under her eyes with a bit of concealer to look almost human again.

As she waits for the Keurig to heat, she taps fingers on the countertop. A pointless gesture, as there’s no one else around to fool but herself, and she knows very well she’s dying to see what else Ben wrote overnight.

Coffee in hand, she sits down to unlock the phone. The notification window is full. Twelve emails before Ben finally quit, and one text from Dr. Canady’s wife, Deidre.

She checks that one first.

_Hi Rey! A friend of ours is coming into town for business and is clueless about the city. Moden would love for you to meet him. Are you available Saturday evening for dinner? It would be a huge favor and we’d be so grateful! ~Dee_

The Canadys have always been kind to her. She has no plans anyway, and a little social distraction would probably be good for her. Rey texts back that she’d be happy to. 

_Great! I’ll forward Poe Dameron your number so you two can make plans. Moden’s sorry to miss him, but he’s not cleared yet to go out. Thank you!_

Oh. Rey blinks at the phone. She thought it was a group dinner, and this is more of – a date? Deidre sends a photo, and Rey’s eyebrows rise in surprise. Poe Dameron is not what she expected. He’s young and . . . handsome. Dark eyes, dark curly hair and a smirk. Hmm, a distraction indeed. 

As she sips her coffee, she scrolls through the rest of Ben’s emails– increasingly lewd fantasies of what he’d do with his “special lady” to make her howl. Her cheeks grow tight and warm until she hits the final one.

_1:08 am. I want to wake up next to someone who feels the same way about me in the morning that they did last night._

Rey’s brow furrows. It’s so raw and relatable that she rubs at her own ribcage. She imagines the serious look on his face as he typed that out early this morning, maybe in that hazy space between consciousness and sleep where the truth slips free.

She takes a screenshot as a reminder to start there next session.

__________

  
  


When Rey pulls open the main office door on Thursday afternoon, she’s met with a blast of dank heat.

“Ugh, what is this!” she says, scrunching up her nose.

Poor Kaydel looks wilted as she fans herself with a file folder. “I’ve already called maintenance twice. The air conditioner is just dead. It’s only blowing hot air.”

Rey shakes her head. With the summer heat, there’s no chance of getting it fixed in time to see clients tonight. She waves Kaydel out to join her in the hallway. “Grab your things, we have to get out of here. We’ll cancel everyone for today.”

The women walk downstairs and regroup at the corner coffee shop to email clients with the news. Hopefully maintenance can get it fixed by tomorrow, if not Monday. Kaydel goes home, and Rey sits outside under an umbrella sipping an iced coffee. The break is unexpected, but sort of nice. In her last few weeks in the city, she can slow down and appreciate it a bit. She’ll miss it. 

For some reason, she thinks of Ben and the sadness grows sharp.

Her cell phone rings with an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Hello, Doctor.” 

Her eyebrows shoot up at his deep voice in her ear, as if she summoned him by thought. “Ben, how did you get this number?”

“I’m fine, thanks for your concern, despite the trauma of you cancelling last minute on me,” he teases.

Rey swallows down a mixture of annoyance and excitement. “This is my personal cell phone, not the answering service.”

“Oh, good, so Google does work,” he blows past her concern. “I need to talk to you about this evening.”

“I’m sorry, but we must cancel, as Kaydel told you. The office is unbearable.”

“It’s always unbearable. The decor alone is nauseating. But cancelling isn’t going to work for me.”

Rey sighs. “Unless you enjoy baking in an oven, which I do _not_ , it can’t be helped.”

“So let’s meet somewhere else.”

She twirls her straw in her cup absently as her eyes wander the sidewalk. Their last meeting outside the office still sits fresh in her mind, both the good and the bad. It was surprisingly productive to see him relax in a casual environment. With only a few weeks left together, she’s surprisingly less resistant to the idea now.

“I can’t think of another location that would offer privacy. Does your office have meeting rooms?”

“I won’t spend one minute there that isn’t absolutely necessary,” he says. “What about a restaurant? There’s a quiet Italian place on my corner.”

“No, that’s too much like a–”

“A date. Right. And this is not a date.”

“Correct. It is not.” He can’t see her, so there’s no danger in smiling. She twirls the straw in the cup. “We can always just meet next week.” 

“No.” His tone is adamant. “I know a place. At my building, there’s a terrace. It’s secluded.”

“Go on,” she says. It’s strangely comforting hearing his voice without the pressure of reacting to his presence. She relaxes back into the chair at the warm sound of it.

“It’s quiet. Private. And outside, which is nice at night in the summer. There’s a little green area with trees. I can have some bottles of–” he corrects his thought midstream, “Water. It’s perfect.”

“Hmm, it sounds tenable. But I still have concerns meeting outside the office.” She picks at a loose string at the hem of her blouse. Not tugging it, but not letting it alone, either.

“What if I sweeten the deal?” his voice full of mischief. “I will . . .” He stalls, thinking.

She waits, curious what he thinks would entice her.

“I will promise to talk about my mother.” 

Oooh. Oh, that’s good. What therapist in her right mind could give up on that opportunity? 

She grins, because he cannot see her doing it. “Okay. You’re on.”

“And if we run over time, I’ll pay for double.”

Extra time talking about his mother? Wow. Jackpot.

“Text me the address,” she says, suppressing a laugh.

__________

  
  


The Lyft drops her in front of Ben’s building on the Upper West Side. When Rey steps out onto the curb, she instinctively looks up.

Sleek, new and modern. Tall, like he’s tall. It’s Ben Solo in building form, somehow scaled to suit his proportions. Clearly premium real estate on a premium block set between Central Park and the Hudson River.

She texts him that she’s arrived and is surprised when he says he’ll come down to collect her rather than buzzing her in.

Rey stands idly by the front door and smiles at the doorman who tips his cap to her. The urge to check her hair strikes suddenly, and she spins to look at her reflection in the glass. She went home to change and is now in cream capri pants and white, capped-sleeve blouse cropped to hit at the hip with nude flats. Professional enough, but still light and airy for the season. She tucks a lock of loose hair behind her ear and straightens as the door swings open.

“Hi,” Ben says, leaning outside of the doorway and holding it open for her with an easy smile. He’s wearing a black v-neck lightweight sweater and grey jeans. Rey’s never seen him in casual wear before, and it makes him look years younger. Her stomach flutters.

“Hello, Ben.”

“Come on in, Doc.”

She smiles and follows him inside. The building is as luxe on the inside as the facade promised. He lopes ahead of her and leads them to an elevator on the far side that seems to be waiting for them.

Stepping inside, she turns to face the dark bronze doors as they close. There’s enough of a sheen that she can make out the blurry shape of him standing beside her. He leans against the side of the car, watching her profile.

She swallows and looks straight ahead.

“Have any problem finding it?” Ben asks softly.

“No, not at all.” She says, glancing over at him. His hands are hidden behind his waist, holding onto the bar behind him. It makes his shoulders slightly curve toward her.

She’s never seen so much neck on him before. Never would have considered a neck an attractive feature, in fact, but on him it is. The lines of his wide shoulders and chest are clear under the hug of the soft fabric of his sweater, not hidden under a jacket as she so often sees him. Rey redirects her eyes to the elevator door and blinks, looking up at the floor numbers as they rise.

“Good, good,” he murmurs. 

She feels her body stiffen. The butterflies in her stomach are disproportionate to the current situation. They’re simply standing alone in an elevator. There’s no risk. His hands are even behind his back.

Yet her heartbeat is steadily increasing, despite all logic. It’s absurd. 

She looks back to her own reflection in the door and realizes _he_ isn’t the person she’s afraid of at all, he’s not the one making her nervous. 

It’s her. She swallows and the elevator comes to a stop.

Ben leads them down a long hall, and she assumes they’re heading for the door at the end to reach a common area. Instead, he stops in front of an apartment door and pulls keys from his pocket. Opening the door, he lets it swing open for her.

“Home, sweet home,” he says walking inside.

She freezes at the doorway, eyes wide. He’s halfway through the room before he notices she’s not behind him.

He turns. “What?” he asks, a light smile on his lips.

“We agreed on a terrace, Ben,” she says, as if he could have possibly forgotten their terms in the last couple of hours.

“I know. It’s right there,” he gestures to the window on the far side. She can see there are lights on the balcony. 

His balcony.

Her mouth grows slack. “You did not say a word about it being _your_ terrace,” she says, eyes drilled onto him like a nun on an errant schoolboy.

Ben squints and tilts his head. “I said the terrace at my building? Which this clearly is?”

“You didn’t say it was part of your house,” she clarifies. 

“You wanted private. This is private.”

He takes a few ambling steps back to her and puts his hands in his pockets. The pose makes his biceps and chest flex.

She pinches her lips together.

“What are you afraid of? That I'll push you off it?” he teases.

She snorts and crosses her arms, raising her brows to tell him what he very well knows already. “I cannot meet a client in his home.”

“You aren’t. You’re meeting me _outside_ my home.” His handsome smile is infuriating. The damned attorney, sneaking between the words again. 

“You know what I mean.”

He strides closer, clever eyes on her, and crosses his own arms over his chest to mirror her stance. “What precisely are you afraid of here, Doctor?” His voice is smooth and dangerous. His dark eyes lock with hers, keen on her every reaction. 

She’s stuck, and he knows it. Either she’s afraid of him or afraid of herself. He’ll promise to be good, so that only leaves her. And if she tells him she’s worried about what she'll be tempted to do . . . well, that’s what he wants to hear, isn’t it? The admission. 

She wonders what he would do with that information. Gloat? Tease? Sweep her off her feet and bridal carry her to his bed?

If she can’t trust herself, she may as well quit right now. Rey sighs and shakes her head. There’s no way forward but through.

“Okay, but if anything becomes uncomfortable, we stop.”

“Scout’s honor.” He raises a hand and tries to look earnest.

As she steps inside his door, she throws him a wry smile. “You weren’t a scout.”

He smirks. “Of course not,” and closes the door behind them.


	8. Session Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Readers~
> 
> Thank you for waiting! This chapter almost killed me. It was really, really hard. It should be much easier on me after this, but not so much on them. Lol. Chapter counts are estimates.
> 
> I'm absolutely overwhelmed with your support, kindness and encouragement on this story. I could NOT do it without you. I literally convert your enthusiasm into writing fuel, so your comments make this fic happen. I read every single one and will do my best to respond, but please know you are part of this process and I am so grateful to each of you. <3 
> 
> Warning: Not real therapy, not real patients. It's all fiction.
> 
> A very special thanks to my beta DangerTaylor and spiritual advisors GreyOrchids and LapinRose. This chapter would not work without them. Thank you, friends!!!! 
> 
> ....... and a very special thank you to the wonderful friend and human, ladyburrito, for this gorgeous moodboard. THANK YOU SO MUCH you beautiful person!!!! Go read her fic "Cabin Fever" pronto please!!!

She’s in his apartment. Ben Solo’s apartment. 

This was not the plan.

She takes a deep breath to slow her heartbeat. His heavy footfalls are loud in the otherwise quiet space. He walks ahead and turns a corner. 

“I’m gonna grab a beer. How about a Pellegrino?”

“Um, sure.” So he remembers that she doesn’t drink, yet conveniently forgot her telling him alcohol wasn’t appropriate in therapy. 

Then again, neither is standing in your infuriatingly hot client’s living room. Rey twists the strap of her shoulder bag between her fingers. Her steps are slow and measured, taking in the room like an archaeologist surrounded by rare finds. 

She would’ve guessed Ben went for designer labels and sharp lines– but no. The walls are a simple white and the floors are dark wood, which gives center stage to the expansive views from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The minimalist decor is a mix of old and new. A modern fireplace, but mid-century leather furniture the color of a weathered baseball glove. Bookshelves are stacked full of books that look like they’ve actually been read, but the walls are bare except for a few pieces of graphic art. It’s an interesting dichotomy, much like him, and the overall feel is understated and comfortable. 

She, on the other hand, is anything but comfortable. Her skin feels a size too tight and her mouth has run dry. There’s a current of nervous energy strumming through her like static electricity. 

Maybe this time she’s overestimated herself.

“Bottle or a glass?” Ben asks to the sound of a fridge door closing.

“Bottle’s fine.” Her gaze falls upon an acoustic guitar displayed on a stand in the corner. A very quaint and human thing, especially when she imagines him cradling it. “Do you play?”

Ben emerges with bottles in each hand and a puzzled expression. She points to the instrument.

“Oh, that kind of play.” His smile is crooked and disarming, eyes crinkling along the edges. 

She clears her throat and shifts weight between her feet.

“I’m trying to teach myself, but am failing miserably.” He passes her the green bottle of sparkling water. “I think my fingers are too big.”

She looks down at the way his hand dwarfs the bottle and quickly takes a sip so he won’t see her lips twitch. The cool rush of bubbles clears her head a bit. “It’s great you’re trying something new.”

His eyes sparkle as he lifts the beer to his pursed lips. “I’m always up for a good challenge, Doctor.”

Luckily, so is she. Rey swallows and lifts her chin. “Shall we get started, then?” 

Ben nods and sweeps his arm forward like he’s inviting her to dance. As Rey follows him to the terrace, she glances to the right.

His bedroom door is wide open. The scene of the crime, as it were, and she can’t help but wonder how many other women have walked this same path before ending up in that bed. The drag of curiosity slows her steps when his bed comes into view: king-sized, perfectly made with a plush white duvet and pillows leaning against a dark-wood headboard. 

Thoughts rise like smoke: Are the sheets as soft as they look? Would he lead her inside by the hand, or push her down on the mattress . . . 

_I want to drag her hot pussy to my mouth, make her shake so hard when she comes that first time, mindless with it, but I won’t stop until she’s begging._

Yanking her gaze forward again, the back of her neck heats. The fantasies he shared have become hers now, too. Rey blinks at Ben’s wide back as he slides open the door. Shit, will it show on her face? He can’t know how much he affected her. 

Rey snaps the band on her wrist, hard, and steps through the glass into the New York City night. 

Ben was right: it’s a perfect night to be outside, warm but not humid. He takes a seat on a lounge chair near a small tree strung with amber lights, but Rey can’t resist walking up to the railing for a closer look.

The darkened forest canopy of Central Park is cut into the heart of midtown like an open doorway. This high above the street, there’s no car exhaust or voices to disturb the quiet, and the breeze is a gentle whisper. She watches the tiny people down below on the lighted trails twisting like ribbons through the dark. Rey smiles wistfully. 

This is what she’ll miss most when she leaves– the electric, buzzing hum of millions of souls that’s so specific to this place. No matter the time of day or night, you know there are countless people feeling what you are, wanting what you want, somewhere in this city. A symphony of sound, color, and taste is always just steps away. It’s a place full of strangers, but you’re never alone.

It’s a special magic trick, New York. Belonging and isolation all at once. 

Rey sighs out, “What a view.”

“A million dollars for that alone,” Ben murmurs. It’s unclear from his tone if it’s a joke.

She looks back over her shoulder and finds he’s staring at her. Ben sips his beer with a thick arm hooked over the back of his chair and lounging like a spoiled prince with his legs splayed. The looseness of his body is in contrast with the heated intensity in his eyes as they fix on her. He licks his lips.

Her stomach clenches as her body heats from the inside out. This man is dangerous. The clear, professional line that separates them in the office is fraying tonight, and she’s got to snap it back into place before one of them crosses it. 

Rey straightens and puts on a more professional air as she takes the seat across from him. “How long have you lived here?”

“After the divorce was settled. Wanted to make a fresh start.”

“Did it work?”

“I don’t wake up scowling anymore,” he says with a wry smile.

Rey nods and opens her bag to draw out the steno pad. When he sees it, Ben groans and lolls his head to the side.

“What?” She says, clicking her pen.

He waves an open palm in time with his words. “Again with the notes, the files. Can’t we just talk?”

She narrows her eyes. “We _are_ talking, but we’re also working.”

“You should learn to relax more, Doctor.” He cocks his head to mimic concern, before a sly grin slides free. “I could help you with that.” 

It’s his regular level of flirtation, but tonight it feels electrified. The fact that his bed is just steps away can’t be far from his mind. It certainly isn’t from hers. 

She arranges a stern look. “You didn’t already forget your promises about tonight, did you?”

“Forget my mother? Impossible. Believe me, I’ve tried,” he quips. 

The jokes, the cockiness– all his defensive mechanisms are in play. That won’t do. She’s got to ease him into deeper waters. Rey reviews her notes:

_Focus on self-esteem & ego-syntonic values _

_Accepted for who he is/safe_

_Deserving of more_

_Hope_

She clears her throat, slipping back into the safety of the work. “Let’s begin with your assignment from last time. You were to notice–”

“How often I think about sex or when women want me only for what I can do for them,” he finishes. Ben lifts his arm and pulls back his sleeve to reveal the band on his wrist. 

“I did my homework. I was a good boy.” His eyes glimmer.

Her cheeks pink thinking of just how “good” he was, and she wills herself not to think of his words– 

_My hands around her waist and running over that sweet, round ass as I fill her up so good with my cock. That first little sigh when she takes it all, knowing I can give her what she needs– it’s fucking delicious._

As if he’s reading her mind, Ben asks, “I’m happy to go over my notes in detail with you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rey clips out. She recrosses her legs and stares fixedly at her notepad. Her basal temperature must have risen five points just walking inside his apartment, and he’s not helping matters with his velvet voice and innuendos. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Ben smiling like a devil.

Focus. “Did it help you discover any thought patterns not serving you?”

“Oh, I’d say they served me great, sometimes twice a day.” His tone contains an obvious smirk. “Did you find them– useful to you?”

Her eyes widen and lift to meet his. He’s studying her like a textbook. Does he know she made herself come to his words, like a filthy chorus in her ear? Is it showing? Rey uses all her force of will to relax the muscles of her face and contain her breathing. “They were illuminating. Thanks for your cooperation.”

“Happy to, Doctor. Anytime.” He smiles lazily as his gaze rolls down her body. 

They must move to safer ground. Something about his wording nags at her. Rey flips back to last week’s notes and discovers he’s switched up her phrasing. She jots down: _being wanted = valued_ and _doing = giving._ It’s a revealing look into his worldview. 

“I noticed that you perceived some of my words differently. You said ‘being wanted’ instead of being valued. Are they the same thing to you?”

He shrugs. “Isn’t it that way for everyone? If you’re wanted, you’re valuable. Supply and demand, it’s the free market.”

His words strike sharp beneath the ribs. It wasn’t intended as an attack, but she’ll challenge him on this. “So what does that mean for a child in foster care? Was I not valuable because I was unwanted?”

Ben stills as his cockiness falls away and the smile drops. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s a good point. I want you to consider it.” She leans forward, maintaining eye contact to keep him engaging with her. To show she’s not afraid to face it. “If I had based my self-value on people wanting me, I wouldn’t have survived.” She looks down at her lap. “Not to say that as a child, it wasn’t extremely difficult sometimes, but I learned to develop my own system of self-worth apart from others.”

He doesn’t respond right away. The silence stretches and Rey tugs at the hem of her blouse, self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“What are you thinking right now?” she asks, curious.

“How some people get a raw deal in life, and it’s usually the ones who least deserve it.” His eyes find hers again, dark and chastened. “How can you stand to listen to the complaints of rich assholes like me? People who’ve never known real problems compared to what you’ve been through? It must drive you mad.”

“Not at all. I like helping people. We all have our own struggles.”

His eyes bore into hers. “You deserve way better than what you got.”

“Thank you, but I only bring it up to challenge your belief. Do you see how your capitalistic view of a person’s value isn’t the only way?”

“Yeah, fair.” His hand scratches its way back through his hair, and the overhead lights catch the flecks of gold in his eyes. Warm, understanding eyes. It’s incredible how far they’ve come in a handful of weeks. If only they had more time together . . . 

She breaks the reverie and looks back to her notes. “So let’s talk about areas of your life where you feel valued. Work, perhaps?”

Ben chuffs out a laugh and rolls his shoulders back before taking a gulp of beer. “Big Law is not exactly known for its collegial atmosphere. They only value one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Winning.” He smiles, but it looks hollow. 

She leans on the arm of her chair and watches his body language. “Seems very black and white.” 

“More like green. Big Law needs big money. Bring that in, you’re golden.”

She watches his body stiffen and his manner go cold. He said before he joined the firm because of family. That combined with a high-stress environment adds a lot of pressure to perform.

“If you had your choice, would you do something else?”

He doesn’t blink. “In a heartbeat.”

“What would you do?”

“Theoretically?” She nods. Ben leans forward again, perching elbows on knees. His biceps stretch against the soft fabric of his sweater and her eyes dart to the tight bulges before resettling to his face. The soft lighting and his sweater are not doing her body temperature any favors. 

“I took a few pro bono cases for women seeking asylum to escape domestic abuse. It felt good to make an actual difference in someone’s life, instead of just shifting numbers from column A in one bank to column B in another.” His face becomes more animated, softer. It’s a side she hasn’t seen before. 

“What is stopping you from doing more of that right now?”

“It’s complicated. My family–” He shakes his head, but doesn’t finish.

“Do they only care about winning, too?”

Ben strokes his jaw and looks up at the sky. He appears more vulnerable without the suit. His long neck, so often hidden from view, is an almost graceful expanse of white against the black sweater.

“They care about success. The family legacy.” His smile is thin and sharp. “The cause always comes first.”

“So that leads us to your promise . . . “ She turns to a fresh page.

“My mother. Oh, where to start.” He tips back his beer and takes a gulp, then scratches under his chin. She waits patiently for him to find the words.

“She had a difficult pregnancy with me. She’s a tiny thing,” he holds up a hand to his ribs, “and I’m not, obviously.” He chuckles, but his smile fades fast. “She almost died from the bleeding. I was her first and last kid. My parents said they didn’t blame me for it, but when you’re young you get weird ideas.”

The moon has come out from behind the clouds, barely a sliver, but the faint light is enough to see the sadness in his eyes. She holds her body very still.

“I felt guilty a lot as a kid, felt a lot of stuff, actually. Too big, too angry. We don’t discuss feelings in my family, it usually gets channeled into arguing, which we’re good at. But I was quiet, so I became invisible.”

She just watches and lets him work through this in his own time without interruption or guidance. Ben leans forward, taking a swig of beer and smacking his lips. He wipes a big palm across his face. “So, then I was a teenage boy, angry at the fucking world, or horny or sad– and I did some stupid things to get the attention.”

She identifies with that. At thirteen, she shoplifted some lipstick, not because she wanted them but to see if anyone would even notice or care. That’s what it’s like to grow up lonely. 

“Mom was running for Senate again, and the last thing she needed was me fucking that up for her. So they sent me to military school in Virginia, where they could either march or beat my bullshit out of me. I came back reformed.” His smile is thin and brittle.

“That must have been difficult on you.” 

“Yeah, well, lots of people have it worse.” He looks at her. “You had it worse, not knowing your parents.”

“We don’t need to compare our trauma to make it meaningful,” she says softly. “Did you resent your family for sending you away?”

He runs a hand through his hair and looks out over the terrace. “My Uncle and Dad, no, I wasn’t as close to them. But my Mom–” He stops himself and shakes his head. “I know she’s got her own life, her own goals, but I thought she was the one person who got me.”

Yet she didn’t. The mother is a special relationship to a child, a core ideal of the feminine and nurturer. To feel rejected by his mother, and then by his wife– it’s no wonder he seeks that approval where he can find it.

He takes another chug of beer, finishing it off. “I thought we were avoiding the heat tonight, not bringing it.” He smiles sheepishly.

He’s working so hard tonight. It’s not easy. 

“You’re the one who insisted and didn’t want to skip,” she gently teases. “Do you need a break?”

“Yeah, I could use another drink. You?” Ben rises.

“Sure.” He takes the empty bottles inside. Her phone pings, and she fishes it out of her bag to find a text from Poe Dameron. 

_Looking forward to dinner Saturday. Let me know what time works for you and where. Happy to pick you up, my hotel is near Broadway._

_-Poe_

She types out a quick reply and adds a Yelp link.

_Great! How about tapas? La Takodana in Soho at 7 pm? I can meet you there. Rey._

Ben returns and sets down another water in front of her. “So, where were we.”

“Talking about winners and losers.” Rey sets her phone on the table next to her bottle. “And that only winners are valued.”

“That’s just human nature. Losers are weak, and people hate the weak.”

“I disagree.” 

He scoffs, but his eyes light up at her resistance. “Are you debating me, Doctor? Because I _kill_ at debate.”

She lifts her chin and suppresses a smile. “You can’t debate facts. Science proves a lot of what we call human nature is actually conditioned. It’s taught behavior from our culture and experiences.”

“But it’s taught because it works. The ones doing the teaching have won. People love winners, you can’t deny that.”

She pivots back to him. “So when you win, are you loved?”

He turns a palm up. “I mean, I’m rewarded. Promoted. Respected. Isn’t that functionally the same thing?”

“Most certainly not.” Her eyes widen in surprise that she can barely hide, despite her training. “We must have very different definitions of love.”

“Are we gonna talk about love now?” Ben leans in closer, eyes bright and animated as his voice takes a deeper pitch. “This could last all night long.”

She blinks and stumbles over a response, distracted by the excitement in his eyes and the things he could do all night long just a few feet away from them. The breeze blows gently and ruffles his hair. The moment dangles like a loose thread ready to be pulled.

She could retreat and avoid the dangers of this subject entirely, but instead she feels emboldened by his honesty and dives in deeper.

“Did you love Bazine?”

The movement is too subtle to call a flinch, but his smile wavers and he reclines back in the chair. “I thought I did. Or at least, I thought I could, at one point.”

  
“Did the divorce feel like a loss?”

“No, because it wasn’t something I wanted to keep.”

Ben’s not smiling anymore, but he’s not deflecting. Good. Time to peel back another layer. Rey softens her tone, drilling down to her point and leading him along with her. He needs to view himself as deserving of love, despite whether he wins or not.

“You said you ‘want to wake up to someone who feels the same about you as they did last night.’ I want to talk about that feeling.”

Ben strokes his upper lip with a finger, then leans forward to get on her eye level. “Okay, let’s talk about it.”

“What would that feel like for you?” 

His gaze is piercing. “You first, Doctor.”

Toe-to-toe, and only a few feet separate them. The fine hairs on the back of her neck bristle. “I’m not going to answer that,” she says neutrally.

“Why not?” He searches her face. “Because you haven’t found anyone to wake up to?”

“Presumptuous, Ben,” she chastises gently as her cheeks heat. She sits up to add more room to breathe. “When things get too intense for you, you like to deflect to me.”

“I think you know exactly what I mean, because you feel it, too.”

Her eyes snap back to his. If he can detect arousal, can he also sense her loneliness? Ben studies her closely, that keen intelligence surging behind his eyes. “Don’t tell me you aren’t getting hit on regularly,” he quirks an eyebrow. “You get offers, you just don’t accept them. You could have any man you want, so that tells me you don’t find any worthy.”

His words cut a bit too close to the bone. She forces herself to stay calm and volleys back, “You greatly enjoy speculating on my feelings, so why not share yours? Are you afraid?”

Ben rolls his jaw, but forces through a smile. “I’m feeling pretty comfortable right now.”

She lifts her chin. “Then please answer my question. What did you mean by that message?”

Ben shifts as he regards her. A finger traces the curve of his full lip. When his voice returns, it’s husky and soft, as if it comes from a deeper place in his chest. “Sometimes, when I’m with a woman and things are getting really hot and heavy, there’s this energy to it. This flow.”

Rey eases into her chair and watches Ben’s eyes dance around the terrace– to her face, to the darkened sky, to his hands– as he speaks. There’s no trace of gamesmanship on his face, no smile. He’s opening up and being vulnerable.

It’s mesmerizing.

“I know it’s just fucking and it doesn’t mean anything, I have no misconceptions about that, but it _feels_ like there’s this trust and just a . . . balance.” He huffs, like he’s finding himself ridiculous. “I sound crazy, it’s not some mystical shit. It’s a scene, it’s fake. I know what she wants and how to give it to her. But for a few hours, I don’t have to think. I can just surrender into it and feel.”

His Adam’s apple bobs and he looks down at his shoes. “Then morning comes and it’s gone. It wasn’t ever there to begin with, not really cause it was just a game. It wasn’t real. But it feels like a taste of what it could be.”

Ben looks back to her, his expression unguarded. Questioning. “Maybe with the right person it could last.”

She sees it so crystal clear in this moment, it’s like a shock of cold water.

He’s so lonely. 

She remembers his words from before: _“Everyone plays a game. Long or short term, they’re just different kinds. It’s easier to stand it for just a night.”_

Ben settles for the fast-food rush of casual sex because he has nothing else to fill that yawning emptiness inside. But it’s not a real connection, just a slower form of rejection. 

Rey steadies her voice. “Intimacy. You want to be open and vulnerable with a woman.”

“You mean like we’re doing right now?” He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Ben grins, and Rey catches herself, cheeks heating as she sputters out, “No, I mean, no. You want to open up with a partner beyond just the sex.”

“The sex is pretty nice, too.” He seems amused at her, but doesn’t deny the truth of her words. 

His expression is calm and open. The real Ben.

She leans forward, feeling so adamant that her voice comes out husky and raw, almost fiercely, “You can feel that way with a partner. You deserve to be seen and loved for who you really are.”

He bites the inside of his cheek before the words spill out. “Is that Rey talking or Dr. Niima?”

“Both.” She locks eyes with him. 

His soft smile fades. “You’re going to tell me that we all deserve that, aren’t you?”

“Would it upset you if I did?” she asks gently.

“No, because I expect it.” He stands suddenly and walks past her to the railing. Sliding a hand in his pocket, he takes a sip of beer and stares out at the night.

Rey sighs and rolls her neck. It’s been intense and they’re both getting tired. Like an emotional vulnerability hangover. 

“Ben, where’s the washroom?”

She follows his directions down the hall and locks the door, shoulders sagging in relief at a momentary escape from the tension. Rey exhales and leans over the sink to turn on the faucet. She presses wet hands to the back of her neck, her cheeks, and the column of her throat to cool off. Looking up, she catches her reflection in the mirror and freezes. Glassy eyes, rosy cheeks, and lips parted. Her eyes go round at seeing the effect Ben has on her with her own eyes. It’s so obvious that he must see it, too. 

It hits her like a slap. There’s only so much you can lie to yourself before the truth comes seeping in. She’s emotionally compromised. Her feelings for him go beyond just sexual want, beyond how she should appropriately care for any client. It’s written on her face, it’s strumming through her body. 

It’s countertransference.

She sees this man for all his flaws, for the pain and wounds that taught him to survive in an inhospitable world, for the deep hunger for connection; and her heart aches in recognition. He’s _so much like her_ that there’s no way she can be impartial now. The empathy is digging deep into her bones and filling up cracks it has no right to fill, and it’s drawing her to him like a lure on a hook– even as her internal alarms are blaring _warning– danger– danger_.

Ben needs someone to truly see him and love him, but she’s not allowed to do that. She’s literally the only person _not allowed_ to fall for him. Something inside her feels like it’s ripping apart.

She has to leave. Now.

When she returns outside, he’s standing at the railing where she left him. 

Her heart pounds so hard that it makes her hands tremble. 

Ben turns to her with a half-smile. “I ordered dinner.”

“Oh.” She picks up her phone to check the time. It’s almost 9 pm. She sees several notifications from Poe texting about tomorrow. “I’ll go. We’ve run far over time.”

“I ordered for you, too.” He smiles, sly and controlled.

Her heart catches in her throat. “I appreciate that, but I can’t.”

“Why don’t you stay.” He takes a step forward. “We can eat and do some more talking.” His shoulders are loose, his long limbs slack. 

Her body feels like it’s made of stone. This can’t happen. He’s on his second or third beer, she can’t remember which, and his inhibitions are loosening, or what little of them he had to begin with. She was so stupid to not insist he drink water instead. He can’t fully consent to treatment if he’s under the influence of alcohol. 

The emotional vulnerability is getting confused in his mind with intimacy. Maybe it’s getting confused in hers, too.

“You’ve done good work tonight.” She moves to collect her things.

He takes another step closer, gliding smooth as a shark through water. “What are you running away from?” 

She can’t look at him. If she sees his eyes, she’s done for. “We’re both tired, and this is a good stopping point.” She’s trying to steady her voice, but the panic is rising up her throat.

“Stay. Please stay.”

Her heart is thundering in her chest like he’s flipped a switch. Her hands tremble from the release of adrenaline.

Because she wants to. She wants to stay.

This can’t happen. This won’t happen. 

She bends to pick up her phone and steno pad, shoving them in her bag with clumsy fingers. Standing again, her eyes can’t rise above his chest. “I have to go.” 

Ben takes another step closer, arms loose at his sides, his wide chest rising and falling almost as quickly as hers.

She takes a step backwards before he can reach her.

He freezes. “Rey–”

The urge to run is so strong, she almost turns and sprints from the terrace like a clock is counting down on her. Once she steps inside, she forces herself to turn and face him.

“I’m proud of you, Ben.” 

Before he can respond, she leaves him standing there and lets herself out of his apartment. She doesn't bother with the elevator, too terrified to wait, and runs down the stairs until she hits the street, lungs burning, and walks the nearly two miles back home with arms crossed over her chest.


	9. Session Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,  
> Thank you so much for your patience and tireless support of this story! I'm simply astounded– and always will be– at your interest and enthusiasm. I've never had more subscribers to a story (even Whole Lotta Sin!) and I hope you find their journey satisfying. Your kindness and comments are the only thing keeping this going, no lie.
> 
> Warning~  
> As always, I'm NOT a therapist and this is escapism fiction! The level of boundary-crossing and blurring lines will only increase from here. If you don't like that or are uncomfortable, then you should probably stop reading. I am honest in the tags and please let me know if anything needs to be added. Reading should be fun!
> 
> That being said, because folks have asked: I consider this to have a happy ending. If it's healthy is not for me to decide, but I think so. I'll be interested to hear what you think.
> 
> Have a very happy holiday and I desperately wish for a better New Year in 2021 for all of us! 
> 
> _________
> 
> Thanks to some amazing friends for support on this chapter: DangerTaylor, NotQuiteGreylo, and GreyOrchids. Y'all are precious to me. <3 
> 
> The art this chapter is from @spritusmovensx on Twitter. She was kind enough to rec this story on her wonderful list of Reylo works for your reading pleasure, and it was an honor to be included! https://twitter.com/spiritusmovensx/status/1340757821500121090?s=20

_The Encyclopedia of Behavioral Medicine_ defines Distraction as: _A classification of coping strategies that are employed to divert attention away from a stressor and toward other thoughts or behaviors that are unrelated to the stressor._

Rey knows this well, she counsels clients on it often in her CBT work. That doesn't prevent her from using any excuse to distract herself on Friday to avoid thinking of Ben Solo and how she ran away. 

Her sessions are stacked back-to-back, so she orders-in lunch to take at her desk. Hunching over her salad, Rey spears another forkful of greens while swallowing the first and emails her landlord to finalize the walk-through date. With a little more than three weeks until the move, her focus should be entirely on wrapping up her work for Dr. Canady and her new position at the little clinic on Dorset Street. 

Should be. 

Her traitorous mind keeps filling with twinkling patio lights and soft music. The caress of breeze across her cheek. Dark amber eyes settling on her with a near-tangible weight. Rey snaps the band and swallows. 

The main line rings, and she hears Kaydel answer from the waiting area. The office is empty besides the two of them and soon giggles float into the room as light as bubbles. Kaydel calls out, “Ben Solo’s on line one.”

Rey doesn’t look up from her screen, forming the words methodically in her mouth, “Tell him I’m unavailable today and take a message, please.”

The giggles return before the sound of the phone resting back in the cradle. “No message.”

Rey takes a sip of her second iced-coffee of the day and attempts to shepherd her mind back to the orderly rows of words on her laptop. Focus. 

Her cell phone buzzes in her bag. Leaning over to retrieve it, she reads the contact name she had just entered yesterday: _B. Solo, mobile._ Her mind flies instantly back to the terrace. The way his long, pale neck curved as he looked up at the stars, white sheets against dark wood . . . 

She turns the phone to silent. Licking her lips, her hands rise to check that her hair is still smoothly swept back from her face. As if anything in the quiet office could have mussed it, or the untamed thoughts had manifested outside of her body somehow. 

A text arrives with a chime: _Please give me a call. Ben_

She’s not going to do that. It’s her professional responsibility to respond to clients, but this isn’t a work call. It’s a test she has no intention of taking. Rey rises and walks to the doorway. 

“Kaydel, can you please call Mr. Solo back and let him know I’m unavailable all of today? He’s welcome to leave a message with you, or call the answering service for the back-up therapist if it’s an emergency.” 

Kaydel’s expression is blank as her brows slowly arch over wide eyes. Considering that she just herself spoke with Ben less than three minutes ago, the likelihood of a sudden mental health crisis must sound as absurd as it sounds to Rey saying it. Yet, it’s protocol and what she’d do for any of her clients. 

Rey will treat Ben Solo like any other client.

Kaydel replies, “Yes, doctor.”

Rey nods. “Thank you. I’m not to be disturbed, please, until the Petersons arrive.” She flips the in-session sign and closes the inner-office door decisively before marching back to her desk. When the giggles start up again, she puts on soothing ambient music to drown them out.

Elbows on the desk, her fingertips draw light circles on her temples as she returns to the article from _The Psychiatric Times_ titled “How to Work Through Erotic Transference.” She’s got four days until her next appointment with him. Enough time to fortify her defenses. 

_Transference and countertransference are, by their nature, complex and interrelated. Power dynamics in interpersonal relationships also play a role. Love, after all, serves to equalize power between lovers._ _We miss its complex dynamics if we fail to look at the hidden yearnings for asserting power or claiming protection for weakness._

Protecting vulnerability. Power and control. Two areas where, if she’s being perfectly frank, she and Ben are well-matched as adversaries. He chooses partners that give him the control, she often chooses no one rather than give it up. Rey shifts uncomfortably at the awareness of just how similar they are. No wonder they clash in session. It’s always a duel.

Her body stills as she reads the final paragraph.

_Erotic_ _Transference is not necessarily a barrier, and in fact, can be a tool for the therapist to use in treatment. It may confer on the patient a new appreciation of the possibilities inherent in relationships– sometimes through an identification with a therapist's empathy and kindness. The usefulness of the erotic transference is twofold: the wealth of psychological material it yields in understanding both erotic and power issues and the strength of the emotional charge that initially sustains the patient through some hard work._

_Thus, the patient's capacity to form a transference relationship to the therapist is a key factor in facilitating change. Developing, recognizing and working through an erotic transference are often central to the psychotherapeutic process._

Rey leans back in her chair and pinches the bridge of her nose. Okay. She can use his transference as leverage to help him. They just need to work through it, and she needs to not slip up any further. No one knows what happened in that bathroom but her, and she intends to keep it that way. 

Opening up his file, Rey adds the notes:

_Vulnerability/Control_

_Power dynamics_

_Empathy & kindness _

  
  


The end of the pen taps the paper in time with her thoughts. She must focus on professionalism to keep things in check. The routine of therapy and the emotional distance the office setting offers. No more house calls. No more surprises. 

After Kaydel leaves for the night, Rey remains alone to catch up on documentation. The sun sets through the blinds and makes the orange shag rug look like it’s ablaze. She dives into the case files, tying up loose ends to avoid her quiet home and empty bed. Keeping her mind fed with other things to ignore the craving. 

She writes until her hand aches.

____________

On Saturday, Rey wakes early to run and gets both her laundry and the grocery shopping done before lunch. She begins packing some nonessentials and books into cardboard boxes. By three o’clock, her stomach starts fluttering thinking of dinner with Poe Dameron. It’s been awhile since she’s been on a proper date.

She dives into her closet and pulls practically everything out for consideration. Dresses seem like she’s trying too hard, and all the skirts are too formal. She settles on a pair of black cigarette pants that hit at the ankle and open-toed booties. A cream v-neck silk blouse pairs well with a thin gold chain and hoops. She keeps the make-up simple with a smokey liner and nude lip, her hair down in loose waves. It takes quite a bit of time to look so effortless, and that certainly doesn’t help any with the nerves.

La Takodana is a short walk from the Prince Street subway stop. Rey had declined Poe’s offer to pick her up, preferring to meet him on equal ground and on her own two feet. She adjusts the small crossbody bag as she pulls open the front door and scans the room.

The inside of the restaurant is warm and welcoming, with candles lit on each table in ruby glass votives. One wall is exposed brick with cascading vines reaching up to the skylight, while the others display black-and-white historic photos and bright splashes of art and pottery. It’s quiet enough for conversation and the food is excellent– so if nothing else, she’ll eat well.

Rey takes a centering breath and makes her way to the bar to wait. She orders a sparkling water with lime and checks her phone to find Poe texted her he’s a few minutes out. There’s another missed call from Ben while she was on the subway, making a grand total of five. Electricity ripples through her, and she swipes the notification away. Rolling her lips to refresh her lipstick, she stirs circles with the straw of her drink almost ritualistically. 

“Rey?” 

The man beside her has a thick beard but carries the same charming smirk from the photo. She slides off the stool. “Yes. Hi– Poe?”

Poe Dameron is about her height and as ruggedly handsome in real life as he is photogenic. “Yup. Evidently my parents had a sense of humor in addition to a love of gothic literature.” His dark brown eyes sparkle under the overhead lights as he takes her hand. 

She grins at the joke and some of the tension melts away. The hostess seats them at a table on the far side of the restaurant near a long hallway and the outdoor patio.

“You drink sangria?” Poe asks, hands in his lap and shoulders curved forward conspiratorially over the menu.

“Not so much, but I hear it’s very good.”

“I hate to drink alone. If I get a carafe, will you have a glass?” He raises his eyebrows and makes himself look charmingly helpless. She expects this act is quite effective, especially with women. 

Well, why not? A bit can’t hurt. “Okay, a small one.”

He grins. They order the white sangria and small plates to start.

“Where are you in from?” Rey asks.

“Boston. I’m taking a wild guess from your accent that you’re a transplant?”

“London. Actually, I’m returning in a few weeks.”

“Ready to move on, huh?”

She looks up from her menu to his genial face. The question itself isn’t as surprising as her own reaction. Despite all the careful planning and preparations, she never took much time to consider the fundamental question: is she emotionally ready to move back? The pang in her chest seems to be an answer. 

Rey furrows her brow briefly and clears her throat. “Um, I think it’s more the next natural step.” She takes another sip of her drink, the sweetness a pleasant burn down her throat.

“So you like the Big Apple after all.”

“Yes, I do, actually.” She shrugs, attempting to drag things back to a more superficial level. “How about you?”

“It’s fun for a visit, but not for me.” He puts on a scandalized expression. “Far too exciting.”

She laughs. Poe’s surprisingly easy to talk to. She can’t remember the last time she had a conversation where words weren’t loaded down with hidden meanings to decipher. They can just be words and it’s a bit of relief to let them pass without much care.

She takes another sip of her glass and chews a piece of tart apple.

The waiter delivers a steady stream of small plates to the table, and the restaurant starts to fill as the shadows grow long. A DJ sets up in the back corner and then the steady beat of techno tango music begins. They have to lean in closer to hear each other as the candlelight dances between their faces. 

She starts to get that warm buzz where muscles go slack and things slow, but she can’t say the feeling is unwelcome. Poe makes another joke, and Rey laughs and leans her temple on a fist, smiling softly at his story. It’s uncomplicated. A good time. She almost forgot what that felt like with someone. 

It’s . . . boring. 

Poe Dameron is a perfectly nice guy, easy-going and confident in that self-deprecating way that most women find attractive– just not her. There’s no challenge, no spark or connection that makes her blood rush faster. Rey wonders what it would be like to live like Ben does for a night, to take a guy home just for a passing fancy. The thought is like ice in her stomach, leaving her heavy and cold inside. There’s not even the smallest temptation, and she almost mourns that fact. Maybe it would be easier to not think and just feel, like Ben said. Too bad that's just not her. 

Too bad she wants it all.

Poe rambles on, and Rey swirls her glass feeling a little guilty and ungracious. She takes another sip.

“Do you want another round?” Poe asks, clearly not noticing that he’s drunk two thirds of the carafe by himself.

Rey shakes her head. “No. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

He takes the hint like a gentleman and doesn’t push. He checks his watch. “Could you excuse me for a minute? I need to check in with my business partner.”

Rey nods. Poe walks toward the patio with his phone in hand. She laces fingers together and leans forward to rest her chin on the hammock of her hands, her smile a bit lazy as she glances around the restaurant.

Her phone vibrates in her purse, and she reaches for it. Her dizzy peace is replaced by a flash of heat as she reads the text from Ben. 

_Are you going to avoid me forever?_

The phone comes to life in her hands with a call– it’s him. Her spine stiffens and she sends it to voicemail. Adjusting in her seat, she swallows and reaches around to slide it back into her bag. 

The chair across from her scrapes back. “Hello, Doctor.”

Even above the low hum of the restaurant, Ben’s deep voice is unmistakable. She spins around. He’s sitting in Poe’s seat wearing a black t-shirt and blazer, an elastic smirk stretching across his face.

Her heart pounds in her chest. Her fuzzy mind can’t catch up yet to what’s happening. Since she’s left speechless, he fills in the gap.

“I happened to be in the neighborhood and–”

“No, you weren’t,” she says, outrage clearing her head. Her hands fist under the table where he can’t see.

“No, I wasn’t,” he agrees with an unwavering smile.

She holds her voice as steady as possible, which requires a great deal of effort since everything inside is screaming. “What are you doing here, Ben?”

“Since you won’t take my calls, I had to find the words from the source.”

She clenches her jaw and hisses, “This is beyond inappropriate.”

His eyes flash. “Is it appropriate for a Doctor to avoid her patients?”

“Clients, not patients,” she counters. “And you aren’t here for medical advice.”

“No, I’m not.” He leans forward over Poe’s plate, mirroring her pose exactly. “Why are _you_ here?”

“How–” she corrects herself, focusing on the main issue. “That is none of your business.”

“You told me you don’t date. Haven’t dated for a while. Yet here you are, weeks before departing, at this lovely establishment.” He waves a hand appreciatively before his eyes snap back to hers. “Does that make you a liar, Doctor?”

Her lips press into a tight line. “I don’t lie to my _clients_.” 

Her emphasis on the word seems to wipe his smile away, his voice turning brittle. “So, what– you’re turning over a new leaf? Putting yourself out there now?” He leans forward, the candlelight catching a darkness in his eyes. “Or did I inspire you with stories of my conquests?”  
  


“You need to leave. Now.” She’s handling this poorly, and the realization makes her blood boil faster. The public setting makes her very aware of herself, otherwise she’d be yelling. 

Poe chooses this moment to reappear with a quizzical expression. Although he couldn’t have heard them, Ben’s sly smile and her barely-controlled rage must speak volumes on their own.

“Hi, I’m Poe Dameron, and you are–”

Ben turns and offers his hand with an acidic smile. “Ben Solo.”

Poe nods toward Rey. “You know each other?”

Ben must be aware that under HIPAA law it’s illegal for her to reveal that she’s his therapist, because he answers before she can, “I’m her Ex. Imagine my surprise running into her here, after she left me standing at the altar.”

Her jaw drops open. _The fucking nerve._ “Poe, excuse me, Ben and I need a moment.” She rises so quickly that her hip hits the corner of the table, and she winces. “Could you please order me a coffee?”

Poe looks between them. “Uh, sure, do you want me to–”

“We’re fine,” she grits out. “I’ll just be a moment.”

She strides past the men down the hallway, her fists clenching and shoulders tight, not even turning to see if Ben is following. When she reaches the end of the hall, she slams the bar of the exit door so hard that it flies open into the night air.

Rey steps down into the narrow alley behind the restaurant and spins on her heel to face him.

Ben’s hands are in his pockets and his shoulders slack. He’s carrying himself as the very picture of unperturbed. She’s never wanted to slap someone more in her life.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic–” she begins in a low growl and then stops. Takes a deep breath and starts again. “How _dare_ you?”

“What, that?” He points over his shoulder. Amused. “Who cares– are you even going to see that guy again after tonight?”

Her eyes narrow to slits both at his insinuation and the fact he had no compunction at all about ruining it for her. “You know I can’t tell him the truth. That’s a rotten thing to do to me.” 

“To _you_ ?” He takes a quick step closer. “I just sat at the bar and watched you ignore my call. How does that treatment rate on your _rotten_ scale?”

“You have no right.” She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s vaguely aware that this isn’t how she speaks to clients, yet she’s too hot to calm herself. His glib manner isn’t helping matters. “This is my life, my personal life, and you can’t come crashing in every time you want my attention.” 

He exhales, shaking his head and working his jaw. “As if what I share with you about my life isn’t _personal_ ? As if that means _nothing_?”

“It isn’t the same, and you know it,” she counters. “How did you know I would be here?”

“Maybe you should lock your phone screen.” He shrugs, sliding back to the blase´attitude. 

The terrace. Poe’s texts. She grits her teeth. “This is not okay. You crossed a huge boundary. Why– because you were jealous?”

“Of him?” He scoffs. “Please.”

“Then what do you want, Ben?”

“For you to talk to me.” The smile fades, but the intensity in his eyes only increases. “Honestly. Without the bullshit or therapy speak.” 

“You’re not owed my time outside of the office.” She watches the words land like strikes across his face. It feels good to lash back and unsettle him in return. It would feel better if only his eyes weren’t so wounded. “Our relationship is only professional.”

Ben isn’t deterred by her words, and if anything looms larger. “Who are you trying to convince, me or you?” 

The shadows from the street lights make him look massive, as if cut from the night itself. His dark gaze holds her fast as he steps closer. “You ran away from me. Wouldn’t speak to me. Is that professional?”

No, it isn’t, and she knows it. But damned if she’s going to admit that to him. 

She holds her ground, arms pressed tight at her sides. The back of her neck is burning, and she flips to clinical mode as she scrambles to get back to safer ground. Her voice dips to her controlled, professional tone even as her stomach roils. “We need space to cool down. We will address this on Tuesday.”

His eyes flash. “I want to talk about it now.”

“You don’t get to make the decisions,” she lifts her chin to stare him down, freezing her face into a mask. She hopes it looks authoritative.

His eyes narrow, like he’s sizing her up. A surgeon preparing to cut. It makes her scalp tingle.

“And that’s the way you like it, isn’t it, Rey? When you’re in control?” He licks his full lower lip. “Maybe you have as much of a problem with dominance as I do. We aren’t so different, are we?”

It’s a power play. He’s goading her, and she must stand firm. “You seek control to avoid vulnerability, Ben. That’s why you come to see me, because you need help–” she starts.

“I see you because I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” 

She flinches. His words sink in like claws. “Ben–” 

“You’ve ruined other women for me.” 

His bluntness knocks her off balance, and she takes a side step. Her mind is spinning and skin feels like it’s bursting into flame. “Don’t say that,” she whispers. It sounds like pleading.

“I just did.” His eyes search hers in the dark, the shadows cutting lines across his face. “You can’t run from it anymore, or pretend it isn’t happening. I won’t let you.”

“Ben. Stop.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. The breath is caught in her chest. She’s not ready to face this yet, she’s not prepared.

“Shouldn’t I be honest with you? Isn’t that what you want from me– honesty?”

The words slip out as her eyes press closed, “I won’t be able to see you anymore.”

“Why not? Tell me.”

“You know why,” she answers, her eyes opening again. The streetlights have stars around them from her blurred vision.

“It’s just us. You can say it.” He takes another step closer, hands at his sides. The adrenaline that spikes at his movement sends her back another step. The brick wall is just behind her. 

Still, he moves closer. “Say the words. I won’t tell.”

“I can’t–,” she corrects herself and stops. She can only look as high as his chest. “I cannot treat you anymore if you continue this.”

“Fine, don’t.” He leans over her, studying her face. Her cheeks must be pink from the alcohol, her face is burning. A hand braces on the wall above her head. “Don’t see me in the office. But say it.”

Her heart is racing, breaths coming in short, shallow pants. He leans forward to keep his eyes on her face. She refuses to look away from his chest. She feels pinned, trapped, yet still she can’t bring herself to move away from him. The closeness is intoxicating.

“Tell me why you won’t see me any more, Rey.” It’s so soft it could be a whisper. She can smell the spice of his cologne, so much stronger than she’s used to this close to him, and feels the warmth radiating from his body looming over hers. 

“Tell me.”

Her chest expands as she struggles to catch her breath. She can see it steadily rising and falling, but no air seems to go to her head. The lights of the street lamps glitter like the lights on the terrace. Rey imagines him pressing into her, the rough brick at her back, how she’d clutch at his shoulders. Would he dare take her right here in this alley? Would they get caught?

Would she care? 

Her eyelids flutter, drunk on what can’t be, and on instinct– after weeks of training herself to do just that– she reaches across her body to snap the band on her wrist. She freezes.

Her eyes go wide and she looks up at him.

Ben’s gaze snaps from her wrist to her face, and she can tell by the way his lips part that he knows. The band is for him. She’s caught.

He moves first, leaning down to draw his mouth closer to hers, and her mind spins. He’s so warm and tall, and she could fall right into him, here in the dark, and only they would know.

But she can’t. 

Rey throws out a hand and her fingers splay wide on his chest. Ben stills under her hand but doesn’t step away. Instead, he leans into the touch, the sole point of connection between them. 

His other hand rises to cover hers, holding her in place.

They breathe in the shallow space between them, her gaze fixed on his hand engulfing hers. She can feel his heart pounding under her palm, just like hers is thundering in her own chest. He's firm, a wall of muscle, but his touch on her hand is gentle.

His thumb brushes inside her wrist in a small circle. It’s unfair, how electric that small touch on her skin is. How welcome. 

“Say it, Rey,” he says. Reminding her of what he wants to hear. 

All of this is unfair.

“I can’t,” she whispers. It sounds weak because she is. She’s made of tissue paper and is about to rip in a thousand pieces.

His thumb brushes over her pulse point and it sends a spark through her that makes her knees soften. If she doesn’t speak, then this moment doesn’t have to end yet. But she has a responsibility. 

Rey takes a breath, her eyes rise to his. She hopes he can see the fragile resolve there, the depths of feeling that she cannot voice. She tries to give him what’s left of her strength and kindness in that look, because she knows there will be none left over for herself tonight, not after she’s failed them both so terribly.

“Let go of me,” she says quietly. It feels like the bravest thing she’s ever done. It certainly hurts the worst.

Ben searches her face. He gives her hand a light squeeze before stepping back and letting his hands drop away. She side-steps around him, escaping back to the closed restaurant door.

She stops to say over her shoulder, without turning around. “All calls go through the office. I’m blocking your personal number. We will discuss this on Tuesday.”

He says nothing.

Rey walks back inside, shaking out her arms and exhaling. Her stomach is a mess of knots. She sits down with Poe and puts on a closed-mouth smile and nods when he asks if she's okay. From the corner of her eye, she sees a dark shape walk up to the bar.

Less than an hour later, as she says goodbye to Poe and declines his offer to walk her to the subway, her eyes catch briefly on Ben’s back. He’s leaning over the bar talking to a blonde who throws her head back in a full-throated laugh.

He doesn’t turn to look for her as she leaves. Rey pretends not to notice him or the hollow ache in her chest like an open wound.

Three weeks left.


	10. Session Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest Readers~ 
> 
> I should probably edit this chapter more, but after this week I just need to set it free into the wild. Do not fret: I will try to update this once a week until the end. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience and absolutely *incredible* support of this story! Your comments are both moving and precious to me. I'm sorry I haven't replied to each one, but please know I read them all. You've made writing this worth it, by a mile. It couldn’t happen without you!
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta DangerTaylor, for telling me to try harder (with love) and to GreyOrchids for reminding me what's its all about. This one takes a village, them and all of you included.
> 
> I've got a new avatar and header art on Twitter made by the magical @MagicianBelle! See it at @Newer_fear. Her commissions are open and she's an absolute dream to work with, so don't hesitate to get your own!!! 
> 
> Please enjoy this LOVELY moodboard by the super talented LadyBurrito. 
> 
> Reminder: Not real therapy, not real patients. Proceed with fantasy in mind.

When she wakes on Sunday, a headache splinters through her skull. _Bloody alcohol._ Never should’ve had that sangria. Rey rubs her temples and sniffles as she rolls out of bed and drags herself to the kitchen for coffee. 

The cabinet door slaps open too loudly, and she flinches as she hunts for the ibuprofen and pushes out thoughts of last night. She doesn’t want to think of Ben and the fight. How his chest felt under her palm or the warmth of his hand over hers. How his heart was pounding, too. Instead, she washes down two Advil with her coffee and spends the day packing boxes to keep her mind occupied and out of trouble. 

It nearly works.

Rifling through her bag that night, her steno pad drops to the floor. The page opens to her notes for Ben.

_Vulnerability/Control_

_Power dynamics_

_Empathy & kindness_

_  
_There’s a sharp stab of guilt behind her ribs. Did she show him any empathy or kindness in the alley? No, she was too angry, too raw. The shame cuts through her. He always manages to slither under her shields, like water seeping into the cracks of stone. There’s no denying Ben Solo is her weakness, and Rey _abhors_ being weak.

She turns the page and plops down on the couch to read on. 

_Love, after all, serves to equalize power between lovers._ _We miss its complex dynamics if we fail to look at the hidden yearnings for asserting power or claiming protection for weakness._

In other words, clients with transference want equal ground with their therapist in a struggle for control, much like a puppy mouthing the leash on its walks. So how is this manifesting in Ben? Hidden yearnings? He’s not exactly hiding his, and he saw her snap the band, so knows she's been attracted to him for weeks, too. Everything is out in the open. 

Protection for weakness? Who is the weaker one, the man willing to admit his desire, or the woman who refuses to? She rubs her temples. The lines are blurring in her mind– love or transference, what’s real and what isn’t. What her training tells her, and what her body does.

So where do they go from here?

Rey sits cross-legged, biting the end of a nail as she considers. Finally, as her shoulders sag, she reaches for the laptop. There’s one professional she trusts more than anyone to advise her: Dr. Amilyn Holdo, her former professor. As a clinician and as a woman, Dr. Holdo has the experience and understanding to provide guidance. Putting her weakness into words makes Rey’s hands tremble, but she pushes through it to ask for an urgent consult regarding a client. As much for her own sake as for Ben’s.

________

Tuesday comes all too soon. Rey’s prepared for him, arming herself with scripted phrases and responses in her notepad as if it were a quiver. Ben’s appointment is at 3 pm, and the anticipation is a constant, nagging buzzing in the back of her mind. 

After the two o’clock session leaves, Rey shrugs off her cardigan to hang on the back of her chair, the adrenaline spiking and warming her skin. At least they won’t be alone in the office, with Kaydel her usual cheery self just outside the door and another couple booked directly after him. She’ll be fine; she can do this. 

Truth be told, Rey doesn’t know what to expect from him. Will he be apologetic? Doubtful, after that assured confidence on Saturday. Will he be angry? Petulant? Possibly. Rejection is Ben’s major trigger, and knowing the nature of his coping behaviors . . . She remembers the blonde at the bar, and Rey’s stomach sinks. As his therapist, she knows it’s likely Ben took the woman home, as much to soothe his ego as in retaliation against her. It would be unrealistic to expect otherwise. 

Still, _it burns._

 _  
  
_Rey squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe he’ll share every gory detail to prove that he’s wanted. To lash back at her. Her palms itch, and Rey digs her blunt nails into the skin. God, she hopes he spares them of that. She’s not sure she can take it. Her heart is starting to race. Spreading fingers on the desktop, she leans her forehead down to the cool wood. The minutes tick down and she feels each one twist in her stomach.

The ankle of her crossed leg begins to shake rhythmically under the desk as she sits up again and readies herself to face him.

In the end, Ben does surprise her. 

He doesn’t show up at all.

Five minutes past his appointment time, the man who is always early still hasn’t arrived. Rey walks to the doorway to check and finds only Kaydel in the outer office. 

“Did Ben Solo cancel?” Rey asks in a clipped tone.

Kaydel shakes her head. “No messages.”

“Did he get a reminder call yesterday?” Rey swallows thickly. Her mouth has gone dry. 

“Yes, like always.”

“Could you please call him?” Rey crosses her arms and leans on the doorframe to watch. Her fingers drum on her bicep. 

His work voicemail comes through the handset, and Kaydel leaves a message to call the office. “Weird. He never skips,” Kaydel says. “Maybe something with work.”

“Right.” It’s fifteen minutes past the hour now. He’s clearly not coming. “Mark him down as a no show and make sure he gets a reminder call for Thursday, please.” 

Skipping an appointment is no light thing in her line of work. She must document things thoroughly, and although Ben isn’t a risk for self harm, there’s always a concern. She needs to hear his voice, to be sure.

Returning to the desk, a bit lightheaded, she looks down at her notepad and all the carefully-crafted defenses. They can’t talk through this if he doesn’t show up to talk. It must be a punishment. Ben’s making her suffer, just as she had done to him by ignoring his calls. It’s a bid for attention.

A dark thought bubbles up: _but what if it isn’t? What if he finally listened to you and gave up for good?_ All this time, she took for granted that he was an immovable force of nature, a constant, and that it was her decision whether to continue seeing him. She never even considered him leaving her first.

She feels very foolish now. 

Her clinical mind soothes that it’s just one session, no need to overreact. Maybe something truly did come up with work, the legal profession is like that. Rey bites the side of her cheek and tries to focus on her documentation, but her focus is too scattered. 

She eventually gives up and slaps down her pen to check her email. Nothing from Ben or Dr. Holdo. She rotates in Canady’s old office chair to stare out the window, twisting side to side slowly. The movement does little to settle her mind. 

__________

Kaydel leaves a reminder message for Ben on Wednesday. 

Rey pretends to not be on pins and needles of whether he’ll show the next day or not.

He has not called back or emailed. Zero contact. It’s very concerning when a patient skips a session with no explanation, but in Ben’s case she doesn’t know whether to be worried, disappointed, or furious. Rey flips between the emotions, with a healthy dose of regret mixed in.

If only she’d been kinder to him that night. If only she’d shown more empathy or wisdom. If only she were stronger, _better than she is,_ they wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with, and she wouldn’t be hanging by a wire.

Rey runs for a solid hour and a half on Wednesday night without stopping, weaving between bodies on the sidewalk to keep herself moving and zoned out. Seeking peace in the strain of her muscles and the burn she can control.

But she can’t outrun the truth. She leaves in two weeks, and this could be it. Rey may never see him again. Her heart throbs as her feet pound the pavement. The lack of a say in the situation is _terrifying._ If Ben meant to torture her, he couldn’t have devised a better method. It turns out a taste of her own medicine is the most bitter pill of all. 

Turning into Central Park, Rey finally stops in front of a small lake and folds over to catch her breath. Her thighs jerk and twitch and she shakes her legs out while finally noticing how far she’d gone. 

With a dawning awareness, she realizes exactly where she is. She turns and scans the skyline. There it is: Ben’s building. She walks closer, chest still heaving, the curiosity far too great to resist.

She isn’t brave enough to cross the street to his side. Her head tilts back to trace the floors leading up, trying to find his terrace. It’s hard to tell from down below, and she could be wrong, but it looks like there are lights on. He could be up there right now.

Rey takes out her phone and unblocks his cell number. Her heart is still galloping as she stares at the rectangle of amber light and presses call.

It rings twice and goes to voicemail. She hangs up rather than leaving a message, her nerves failing her. Instead, she texts: 

_Checking up on you. Please call. Will see you Thursday._

No question marks. Only periods.

She starts the long walk home.

____________________

Thursday evening, she’s alone in the office. Ben is her last session of the day.

He doesn’t show up or call.

When she finally accepts he’s not coming, the surge of emotion almost swallows her. Rey sits behind the desk, arms crossed. Furious tears bead at the corners of her eyes, but it flips so quickly to sorrow that her throat goes tight.

They worked so hard. Ben was doing so well, progressing and being honest. Being real. He’s throwing it all away because of petty spite. She may never see him again. Never has she felt this kind of disappointment, maybe with herself in equal measure. If he were to walk in right now, with this storm brewing inside, she may actually scream or slap him.

But Ben doesn’t walk in.

Rey stomps out to Kaydel’s desk to find his work number. No answer. She huffs and walks back to her desk to call his cell phone from hers, not even preparing what she’ll say. His smooth, recorded voice rolls in her ear, and then the words are coming out on their own from her aching throat, a bit hoarse maybe as she holds down the panic.

“Ben, this is the second appointment you’ve missed. I need to know that you are okay. I need to hear from you. Please call me.”

Rey reseats herself, tugging down the hem of her pencil skirt and staring blankly at the desktop. A deep breath calms the trembly, brittle feeling a little, but it’s laying in wait just under her skin threatening to erupt. She sorts some papers, making a neat pile of folders by squaring the corners, and takes a sip of coffee. She picks up the heavy DSM and flips through the pages idly. 

Then she stands suddenly and hurls the book across the room to smack the opposite wall and land in a flutter of pages.

Fuck this. _Fuck this man._ Of all the selfish, spoiled, bratty . . . Rey paces in front of the desk, pivoting with her fists clenched. How dare he? How dare he ignore her, cut her off, act as if she means nothing to him–

She stops mid-pace, panting, as her eyes go wide in recognition. He was standing in almost the same spot when he turned to her, jaw clenched, and demanded to know if she cared about him. 

_“They don’t see me. Do you see me? Or am I just another client to you?”_

His absence is like holding up a mirror and forcing her to look. Rey feels it now– how badly she needs to know she matters to him, how deeply it hurts not to know. It wasn’t until Ben took her control away that she realized how desperately she craved it. 

Now her mind drifts to the memory of him in the alley, shadows dancing across his face as his keen eyes pinned her in place. Eyes that are like looking in a mirror and seeing her own loneliness and want reflected back.

_That’s the way you like it, isn’t it, Rey? When you’re in control? Maybe you have as much of a problem with dominance as I do. We aren’t so different, are we?_

He’s right. That’s the problem.

Rey locks up the office and walks to the bus stop with heavy steps, her legs still sore from pushing herself too far yesterday. Her mind is numb. 

No more running tonight.

_____________

After a long, hot shower, she sits on her couch in a faded university hoodie and pajama pants with a cup of herbal tea and her laptop. She intends to draft her profile for the new job’s website, but instead scrolls aimlessly on social media. 

In the distance, thunder rumbles like large boulders rolling in the sky. The forecast calls for a late-summer thunderstorm.

It’s after ten when her cell phone rings. She frowns and reads the name before reaching quickly to answer.

“Dr. Holdo?”

“Hi, Rey, how are you?” She sounds just as Rey remembers her, vibrant and confident. A beautiful woman with a brilliant mind. “I’m sorry to call so late, I’m at a conference in Hawaii and with the time change, it’s a challenge. I read your email.”

Rey’s stomach clenches. She steadies her voice. “I appreciate you taking the time to respond.”

“Of course. Based on the nature of the case, I can understand why you would feel more comfortable speaking to me about this than Canady. But Rey . . . ”

She licks her lips, preparing herself for the blow.

Dr. Holdo’s voice is gentle. “You did the right thing. Reaching out for help in this situation. Sometimes we are so close that we forget to take a look at the whole picture. We need another person to offer us perspective. Every good therapist has a therapist, you remember me saying that?”

“Yes,” Rey’s eyes are starting to water at the kindness. She blinks.

“It’s true. We are human. Humans have a deep-seated need for connection and acceptance. Those lines are easily blurred in the intensity of a therapeutic setting. We need others to draw back the curtain to let some air in. One thing, however, and this is very important . . .”

Dr. Holdo doesn’t sound disappointed or angry with her. Rey swallows as relief settles in her chest.

“No shame.” Dr. Holdo repeats it, even slower and stronger. “ _No shame._ For you, or for your client. Being real and vulnerable can build therapeutic rapport, but can sometimes lead to emotional connections that aren’t appropriate. It’s still very human.” She shifts and Rey hears the clink of a glass in the background. Knowing Dr. Holdo, maybe a glass of white wine. 

Her professor’s voice, as comforting as a hug, draws her back to sharp focus. “Shame cannot live in the light. It needs the darkness. Naming it, facing it, takes away its power. So repeat that back to me.”

“No shame.” It feels like a weight slipping from Rey’s shoulders. She could cry from that alone.

“That’s right. Now, tell me what’s going on in your own words.”

Rey recounts it all. Her first meeting with Ben– calling him Client B to protect his privacy– the cockiness and her ignoring him, all the slip-ups where she related too personally or he pushed too far, the glimpses of the real man underneath the act. The touches, his hand on hers on the table or his finger brushing her thigh, both unasked for– but as she admits to Dr. Holdo– not unwelcome. How fucking tempted she is to cross the line, to give in, how he draws her closer with both his intensity and his vulnerability. Rey lays bare her desire and how the mutual attraction is hard to deny, though deny it she has. How his manner swings from openness to crude arrogance in an instant, and how his self-worth is tied to his performance. How her own emptiness– in her personal life, in her childhood, in her heart– feels like it could be so easily filled by him. How the tide of desire could swallow and sink her if she doesn’t hold him back.

The hot tears slide down her cheeks as she relays it all, openly, _brutally,_ sparing herself nothing. She shares the struggle between who she wants to be while not hiding how much it is costing her. All the while, Dr. Holdo is silent. Listening, asking for clarification at times, but ultimately just accepting Rey’s words as they land.

Rey ends with him missing the last two sessions and not calling. Acknowledging she may never see him again with a deep ache in her chest. “I suppose it's for the best. In the end, he did on his own what I was too weak to do.” Rey wipes at her cheeks with trembling fingertips, though no one is there to see her tears. 

Dr. Holdo hums. “Oh, I don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” Her voice softens. “And you’re too good of a clinician to assume that without speaking with him first.” 

Rey is quiet. She feels lightheaded in relief at being absolutely honest about this with someone. Releasing all the fear and self-loathing into the open air makes her limbs feel heavy and loose, almost like an emotional hangover from the release of tension.

“In the end, you saw him for a grand total of how long? Roughly seven weeks?”

“Give or take.”

“And he’d been working with Canady for nearly a year.” Dr. Holdo hums again. “I’d say it takes a pretty good therapist to inspire significant life change in that brief of a time, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe. If it’s true change.” She bites a nail. It’s been a fear of hers, never before given credence because it’s too terrifying, that maybe Ben’s just been telling her what she wants to hear. That he’s still playing a game.

“Is that your fear talking, Rey?” Dr. Holdo asks, giving her pause. “Of course I haven’t seen him, so cannot assess him, but from what you’ve said, he’s been extremely honest with you, even when it works against his interests. Does that sound like someone who is being deceptive?”

“No,” Rey agrees. “I think he’s always been painfully honest and self-aware.”

“Trust yourself on that, then.”

Rey shifts onto her hip drawing up her legs to curl onto the sofa. “I do believe him. I think he has made changes.”

“So, if the client has made some significant changes in behavior, whatever the motivation, that illustrates a few things to me: One, he’s capable of growth. Two, he was inspired by your interaction to do so. And lastly, that Canady was wrong about him. He was misdiagnosed to begin with.”

Rey is suddenly very alert. Her scalp tingles. “Because he was able to control his behavior?”

“Precisely. For one, he never exhibited ‘symptoms of distress’ regarding his pattern of behavior, did he? Sounds like he was proud because it proved his value.”

“That’s right.” The excitement is coursing through her veins at this new possibility. “He was not ashamed about it.”

“And he seemed to not treat women as ‘things to be used,’ either, based on his great need for acceptance from them?”

“He ‘wants to hear the yes.’ The acceptance gives him value.” Rey smiles as she realizes. “So the promiscuity wasn’t a compulsion because he could control it. It was a learned coping behavior. So more of an adjustment disorder.” 

Awareness flows through her. It fits. Ben learned how to get what he needed from the women in his life through performance. He isn’t using them as objects, he’s making _himself an object_ to be used by them. Ben became what he thought women wanted. The arrogant alpha male, the lothario act is his suit of armor to keep people away from the real man underneath.

The real him that she’s seen. The real Ben Solo that she knows.

Rey realizes Dr. Holdo has stopped speaking to allow her space to process this. “So, what should I do?” she asks, her voice straining slightly from the emotion swelling in her throat, a mix of hopeful uncertainty and fear of what she may hear. 

“That’s not for me to say, but I think it best you both have closure. You’re moving away and he needs to move forward in a healthy direction.”

Rey hums and nods. They need a proper goodbye, as much as it will hurt. 

Dr. Holdo’s tone turns gentle again, more mother than mentor. “Have you prepared yourself for what it may feel like for you to let him go?”

Rey’s throat goes tight and her lower lip trembles. “I don’t think I have.” She looks down, still trying to avoid facing the pain of it, even in an empty room. “I didn’t realize until this week how deeply it would hurt.”

“Rey, I’m going to tell you something. Off the record.” Holdo clears her throat, and Rey hears a door slide open. The sound of waves is a low roar in the background, and she imagines Dr. Holdo standing on a hotel balcony, wind sweeping back her long hair and looking regal. “Hang with me a bit, because there’s a point to this.” 

“Okay.”

“Growing up, I had this friend, Abby Tavish. I went over to her house a lot. It was fun, chaotic. She was one of five kids, so there was always laughter, and love, and _my God,_ the food.” Holdo laughs. “I loved going over there, slipping into that family for a day and feeling all the joy that just thrummed through that house. And you know what?”

“What,” Rey answers, taken in by the spell of imagining a home like that. How it would feel to belong to people in that way.

“I found out in high school how her parents met: in church. Her dad was a priest and her mom a nun!” Holdo barks out a laugh. 

Rey covers her mouth in surprise. “Really?”

“Really! Obviously, they both left. Got married. Had a bunch of kids, and as far as I know, lived happily ever after. Despite how they met.”

Rey’s fingers flex and ball in her lap and her foot begins to tap. 

Holdo’s voice returns, huskier. “Here’s the off the record part: Sometimes we meet the right person in the wrong way. We counsel therapists all the time about transference, but I’m not sure we ever discuss what happens when it _isn’t_ that _._ Do you know about Erich Fromm?”

“The psychologist from Germany?”

“He and his wife, Frieda Reichmann, were each towering figures in psychoanalysis. They met when she was _his_ therapist. Once they fell in love, she stopped seeing him professionally and they married a year later. I think it’s safe to say that transferent love and authentic love are not necessarily mutually exclusive. It’s a matter of motivation and intent, of true caring for the well-being of the other and if both partners are on equal standing.”

_Equals. Balance._

“And you may _not_ quote me on that.” Dr. Holdo chuckles. “I’m going to leave you with this: You are a very good therapist. You care about this man, both as a client and as a person. Trust yourself and your instincts about how the two of you can end this therapeutic relationship cleanly and each have a healthy path forward. Whatever that may look like to you.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Holdo,” Rey swallows, nearly choking on the surge of gratitude. “Truly.”

“Any time. Keep me updated, and let’s get together in London in November. I’m speaking at Oxford.”

“Of course.”

Rey hangs up and charges her phone. The thunder rumbles overhead as the storm moves closer to the city. The glass panes in her living room rattle in the frames.

She rises to make another cup of tea. It’s a bit after eleven, and she should go to bed, but her mind is snapping with electricity, new ideas and connections, and she feels both emotionally spent and invigorated somehow. It will take her a while to settle.

Another bolt of lightning cracks through the sky, moving closer.

Her phone rings. Rey yawns and glances down at it, frowning.

When she sees the name, she lunges.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Doctor.”

It’s Ben Solo.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars characters are property of The Walt Disney Company.  
> Original story and characters are copyright © 2020 by NewerConstellations. All rights reserved.
> 
> This work is intended for personal use by Ao3 users while posted. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of author, except in the cases of certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please do not transmit downloads beyond personal use.
> 
> For permission requests, write to newerconstellations@gmail.com.


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